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I^oGatkoi; Henry CoTtmrn 1846 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS, 



COMIC AND MISCELLANEOUS 



HORACE SMITH. 

OST. <.F THE ArTHORS OF ''REJECTED AJ>1>B.T£SES.' 



NOW FIRST COLLECTED. 



LOXDOX: 
HEXRY COLBURX, PUBLISHER, 

GRE.\T-MARLBOROrGH-STREET. 
MDCCCLI. 



/*-; 



CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 



PA.GE 

Prefatory Stanzas 3 

Hymn to the Flowers 7 

Address to a Mummy 11 

Address to the Orange Tree at Versailles 16 

Sicilian Arethusa 22 

The Shriek of Prometheus 24 

The Birth of the Invisible 35 

The Sanctuary 41 

The Poppy 46 

The Murderer's Confession 50 

The Contrast 60 

The Bard's Song to his Daughter 63 

The Flower that feels not Spring 66 

Moral Ruins 69 

Moral Alchemy 74 

Moral Cosmetics 79 

The Old Man's Pgean 81 

Answer to an Old Man's Psean 87 

Invocation 91 

The Mother's Mistake 94 

The Sun's Eclipse 98 

Lachrymose Writers 103 

Wliy are they Shut ? 107 

The Libelled Benefactor 113 

Dirge for a Living Poet 117 

Campbell's Funeral 121 

The Life and Death: 

The Life 125 

The Death 127 

Hope's Yearnings 131 

To a Log of Wood upon the Fire 133 

Unpossessed Possessions 138 

To the Furze Bush 141 

The First of March 144 

Invocation to the Cuckoo .' 147 



IV COXTENTS. 

PAGE 

Man 151 

Sporting without a License 153 

The Quarrel of Faith, Hope, and Charity 157 

Winter 165 

Cholera Morbus 166 

Recantation 170 

Death 175 

The Poet among the Trees 179 

To the Ladies of England 184 

Night Song 187 

The Song Vision 189 

The Poet's Winter Song to his Wife 192 

Song to Fanny 194 

Song to Fanny 195 

The Birthday of Spring 197 

An Old Man's Aspiration 200 

Gipsies 203 

Life 206 

To a Lady 208 

The Charms of Life 211 

A Hint to Cynics 213 

Music 214 

The Bard's Inscription in his Daughter's Album 215 

Stanzas 217 

A Hint to Farmers 220 

Disappointment 224 

The Dying Poet's Farewell 225 

Sonnets 229 

Morning 230 

To the Setting Sun 231 

On the Statue of a Piping Faun 232 

On a Greenhouse 233 

On a Stupendous Leg of Granite 234 

Written in the Porch of Binstead Church, Isle of Wight.... 235 

The World 236 

To a Rose 237 

On an Ancient Lance 238 

The Nightingale 239 

Sunset 240 



CONTENTS OF VOL. IL 



PAGE 

The Englishman in France 3 

The Culprit and the Judge 5 

Sonnet to my own Nose 8 

The Milkmaid and the Banker 10 

The Farmer's Wife and the Gascon 13 

The Auctioneer and the Lawyer 19 

The Gouty Merchant and the Stranger 24 

The Fat Actor and the Rustic 27 

The Bank Clerk and the Stable Keeper 31 

Piron and the Judge of the Police 37 

The Farmer and the Counsellor 42 

The Collegian and the Porter 45 

The Mayor of Miroblais 51 

Rabelais and the Lampreys 56 

The Biter Bit 59 

The Parson at Fault 64 

Blindman's Buff. 66 

The Poet and the Alchemist 73 

The Astronomical Alderman 77 

South Down Mutton 81 

Evening; An Elegy 85 

Patent Brown Stout 87 

York Kidney Potatoes 91 

The Handkerchief 95 

The Jester condemned to Death 98 

Laus Atramenti '. 101 



IV CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Two Bracelets 105 

Marshall Saxe and his Physician 110 

Stanzas to Punchinello 114 

The Hurricane and the Menace 119 

The Pleasant Tete.a-Tete 130 

A Tour to the Lakes 134 

An Easy Remedy 151 

Madame Talleyrand and the Traveller 154 

Projects and Companies 159 

Elegy 164 

Pitt's Bon Mot 167 

Hobbs and Dobbs 170 

Monsieur Le Brun 175 

Poetical Epistle 179 

Second Poetical Epistle 211 

Third Poetical Epistle 231 

St. George's Penitentiary 242 

Charade 248 

Charade 251 

Charade 257 

Diamond cut Diamond 258 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



PEEFATOEY STANZAS. 



Talk not to me of Necromantic wights. 

And di-ead magicians, 
Who, by their potent spells, could conjure sprites, 

Ghosts, apparitions, 
And raise the dead from the forgotten past, 
Each in the perfect mould of pre-existence cast. 

I, though no conjuror, have far outdone 

Such Archimages, 
For, as I culled and ponder'd, one by one. 

These scattered pages. 

From the dark past, and memory's eclipse. 

Up rose in vision clear my life's Apocalypse. 
B 2 



PREFATORY STANZAS. 



Mutely each re-creative lay outpour' d 

Its o^\^l revealings; 
Youth, manhood, age, were momently restored, 

With all their feelings. 
Friends long deceased were summoned from the tomb ; 
Forgotten scenes regain' d their -sdvidness and bloom. 

Again did I recline in copses green, 

Gazing from under 
Some oak's thwart boughs upon the sky serene. 

In reverent wonder ; 
Or starting from the sward with ear acute, 
To hear the cuckoo sound its soft two-noted flute. 

Association! thy transcendant power 

AVhat art can rival? 
Muse-hamited stroUs by river, field, or boM^er, 

At thy revival. 
Return once more, and in their second bii'th 
Bring back each former scent and sound of air and earth. 



PKErATORT STANZAS. 

In social joys where song and music's zest 

Made beauty fairer. 
In festive scenes with all their mirth and jest, 

Once more a sharer, 
I see the smiles, and hear the laughter loud 
Of many a Mend, alas ! now mouldering in his shroud. 

So, when the hands are dust that now entwine 

These prompting pages, 
Some future reader, as a jest or line 

His thought engages, 
feeling old memories from their grave arise, 
May thus, in pensive mood, perchance soliloquise : 

"I knew the bardling; 'twas his nature's bent. 

His creed's chief feature. 
To hold that a benign Creator meant 

To bless the creatm*e. 
And giving man a boon denied to brute. 
Loved him to exercise his laughing attribute. 



6 PREFATORY STANZAS. 

" He felt that cheerfulness, when imalloy'cl 

With aught immoral, 
Was piety, on earth, in heaven enjoy'd; 

And wished his laurel 
To be a Misletoe, whose grace should make 
The mirth- devoted year one hallowed Christmas wake. 

" In mystic transcendental clouds to soar 

Was not his mission, 
Yet could he mould at times the solid ore 

Of admonition; 
Offenceless, grave, or gay, at least that praise 
May grace his name, and speed his unpretending lays. 

If such thy welcome, little Book ! discard 

Fears of tliine ordeal ; 
Go forth, and tell thy readers that the Bard, 

With fervent, cordial 
Feelings of gratitude and hope combined. 
Bids them aU hail, and wafts them ev'ry feeling kind. 



HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 



HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 

Day-staes! that ope your frownless eyes to twinkle 

From rainbow galaxies of Earth's creation, 
And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle 
As a libation. 

Ye matin worshippers! who bending lowly 

Before the uprisen Sim, God's lidless eye, 
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
Incense on high. 

Ye bright Mosaics! that with storied beauty, 

The floor of Nature's temple tesselate, 
What numerous emblems of instructive duty 
Your forms create ! 



8 HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 

'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth 

And tolls its perfume on the passing air, 
Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 
A call to prayer. 

Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column 

Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, 
But to that fane, most Catholic and solemn, 
AVhich God hath planned; 

To that cathedral, boundless as oui* wonder, 

Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply; 
Its chou' the winds and waves, — ^its organ thimder, — 
Its dome the sky. 

There, as in solitude and shade I wander 

Through the green aisles, or stretched upon the sod, 
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder 
The ways of God, 



HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 

Your voiceless lips, O Flowers ! are li^dng preachers, 

Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book. 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 
From loneliest nook. 

Floral Apostles ! that in dewy splendour 

"' Weep without woe, and blush without a crime," 
O may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender 
Your lore sublime ! 

"Thou wert not, Solomon! in all thy glory, 

Arrayed," the lilies cry — "in robes like ours; 
How vain your grandeur! ah, how transitory 
Are human flowers!" 

In the sweet-scented pictures, heavenly artist! 

With which thou paintest natui-e's wide-spread hall, 
What a dehghtful lesson thou impartest 
Of love to aU ! 



10 HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 

Not useless are ye, Flowers! though made for pleasure; 

Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and night, 
From eveiy source yom* sanction bids me treasure 
Harmless delight. 

Ephemeral sages ! what instructors hoaiy 

For such a world of thought could fui-nish scope? 
Each fading calyx a memento mori, 
Yet foimt of hope. 

Posthumous glories! angel-like collection! 

Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth, 
Ye are to me a tj'pe of resurrection, 
And second birth. 

Were I in churchless solitudes remaining, 

Far from all voice of teachers and divines, 
My soul would find, in flowers of God's ordaining, 
Priests, sermons, shrines! 



ADDEESS TO A MUMMY. 11 



ADDRESS TO A MUMMY. 

And hast thou walk'd about, (how strange a story!) 
In Thebes's streets thi-ee thousand years ago, 

When the Menmonium was in all its glory, 
And time had not begun to overthrow 

Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous. 

Of which the very ruins are tremendous. 

Speak! for thou long enough hast acted Dummy. 

Thou hast a tongue — come — let us hear its tune; 
Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above-ground. Mummy! 

Revisiting the glimpses of the moon. 
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, 
But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features. 



12 ADDRESS TO A MUMMY. 

Tell US — for doubtless thou canst recollect, 

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame? 

Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect 

Of either pyramid that bears his name? 

Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer? 

Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer: 

Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden 
By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade, — 

Then say what secret melody was hidden 
In Memnon's statue which at simrise play'd? 

Perhaps thou wert a Priest — if so, my struggles 

Are vain, for priestcraft never ovms its juggles. 

Perchance that verj^ hand, now pinion" d flat. 
Has hob-a-nob'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass; 

Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat, 

Or doff'd thine o^xll to let Queen Dido pass; 

Or held, by Solomon's ovni imitation, 

A torch at the great Temple's dedication. 



ADDRESS TO A MUMMY. 13 

I need not ask thee if that hand, when arm'd, 
Has any Roman soldier maul'd and knuckled, 

For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalm' d, 
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled: 

Antiquity appears to have begun 

Long after thy primeval race was run. 

Thou couldst develop, if that wither' d tongue 

Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, 

How the world look'd when it was fresh and yomig, 
And the great Deluge still had left it green — 

Or was it then so old, that History's pages 

Contain' d no record of its early ages? 

StiU silent! incommunicative elf! 

Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows; 
But prythee tell us something of thyself — 

Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; 
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumber' d. 
What hast thou seen — what strange adventures number' d ? 



14 ADDEESS TO A MUMMY. 

Since first thy form was in this box extended, 
We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations. 

The Roman empire has begun and ended, 

New worlds have risen — we have lost old nations. 

And countless Kings have into dust been humbled. 

While not a fi-agment of thy flesh has crumbled. 

Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, 
WTien the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, 

March' d armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread, 
O'erthrew Osii'is, Orus, Apis, Isis, 

And shook the PjTamids mth fear and wonder, 

When the gigantic Menmon fell asunder? 

If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd, 
The natm-e of thy private life unfold: — 

A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast, 
And tears adown that dusty cheek have roll'd: 

Have children climb' d those knees, and kissed that face ? 

What was thy name and station, age and racer 



ADDRESS TO A MUMMY. 15 

Statue of flesh — Immortal of the dead! 

Imperishable type of evanescence! 
Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed, 

And standest undecay'd within om- presence, 
Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning, 
When the great Trump shall thrill thee with its warning. 

Why should this worthless tegument endure, 

If its undying guest be lost for ever? 
Oh ! let us keep the soul embalm'd and pure 

In living vii'tue, that when both must sever, 
Although corruption may our frame consume, 
Th' immortal spirit in the skies may bloom! — 



16 ADDRESS TO THE ORANGE-TKEE AT VERSAILLES. 



ADDRESS TO THE ORANGE-TREE 
AT VERSAILLES, 

Called the Great Bourbon, which is above four hundred years old. 



When France with chdl wars was torn. 
And heads, as well as crowns were shorn 

From royal shoulders, 
One Bourbon, in unalter'd plight, 
Hath still maintained its regal right. 
And held its com-t — a goodly sight 

To all beholders. 

Thou, leafy monarch, thou alone. 
Hast sat uninjured on thy throne, 

Seeing the war range; 
And when the gi'eat Nassaus were seni 
Crownless away, (a sad event!) 
Thou didst uphold and represent 

The House of Orange. 



ADDRESS TO THE OEANGE-TREE AT YERSAILLES. 1 

To tell what changes thou hast seen. 

Each grand monarque, and king and queen, 

Of French extraction, 
Might puzzle those who don't conceive 
French history, so I believe 
Comparing thee with ours will give 

More satisfaction, 

Westminster Hall^% whose oaken roof 
The papers say, (but that's no proof.) 

Is nearly rotten, 
Existed but in stones and trees. 
When thou wert waving in the breeze, 
And blossoms, (what a treat for bees!) 

By scores hadst gotten. 

Chaucer, so old a bard that time 
Has antiquated every chime, 

* Rebuilt 1399. 
VOL. I. c 



18 ADDRESS TO THE ORANGE-TREE AT VERSAILLES. 

And from his tomb outwoni each rhyme 

Within the Abbey; 
And Gower, an older poet whom 
The Borough Chm'ch enshi'ines (his tomb, 
Though once restored, has lost its bloom, 

And got quite shabby,) 

Lived in thy time — the fii-st perchance 
Was beating monks^' when thou in France 

By monks wert beaten, 
Who shook beneath this very tree 
Their reverend beards, with glutton glee, 
As each do"\Aai-falling luxury 

Was caught and eaten. 

Perchance when Henry gain'd the fight 
Of Agincourt, some Gaulish knight, 
(His bleeding steed in Avoful plight, 



* There is a tradition (though not authenticated) that Chaucer 
was fined for beating a monk in Fleet-street. 



ADDRESS TO THE ORANGE-TREE AT VERSAILLES. 19 

With smoking haunches,) 
Laid do^vll his hehnet at thy root, 
And, as he pluck' d the grateful fruit, 
Suffered his poor exliausted brute 

To crop thy branches. 

Thou wert of portly size and look, 
When fii'st the Turks besieged and took 

Constantinople ; 
And eagles in thy boughs might perch. 
When, leading BuUen in the lurch. 
Another Henry changed his church, 

And used the Pope ill. 

What numerous namesakes hast thou seen 
Lounging beneath thy shady green, 

With monks as lazy ; 
Louis Quatorze has pressed that ground, 
With his six mistresses around — 
A sample of the old and sound 

Legitimacy. 



20 ADDKESS TO THE ORANGE-TREE AT VERSAILLES. 

And when despotic freaks and vices 
Brought on th' inevitable crisis 

Of revolution, 
Thou heard"st the mob's infui'iate shriek, 
AMio came theii' victim Queen to seek. 
On guiltless heads the wi-ath to ^^Teak 

Of retribution. 



Oh ! of what follies, ^ice, and crime, 
Hast thou, in thine eventful time, 

Been made beholder! 
What wars, what feuds — the thoughts appal! 
Each against each, and all with all. 
Till races upon races fall, 

In earth to moulder. 

WTiilst thou, serene, unalter'd, calm, 
(Such are the constant gifts and balm 
Bestow* d by Nature!) 



ADDRESS TO THE ORANGE-THEE AT VERSAILLES. 21 

Hast year by year renew' d thy flowers, 
And perfumed the siuTOunding bowers, 
And poured down grateful fruit by showers, 
And profier'd shade in summer hom^s 
To man and creature. 

Thou green and venerable tree ! 
Whatever the futm-e doom may be, 
By fortune given, 

Remember that a rhymester brought 
From foreign shores thine umbrage sought, 
Recall' d the blessings thou hadst wrought, 
And, as he thank'd thee, raised his thought 
To heaven I 



22 SICILIAN AKETHUSA. 



SICILIAN ARETHUSA. 

Sicilian Arethusa! thou, whose arms 

Of azui-e round the Th^Tubrian meadows -s^ind, 

Still are thy margins lined 

With the same flowers Proserpina was wea\'ing 

In Enna's field, beside Pergusa"s lake, 

When swarthy Dis, upheaving, 

Saw her, and, stung to madness by her charms, 

Down snatch'd her, shrieking, to his Stygian couch. 

Thy waves, Sicilian Ai-ethusa, flow 

In cadence to the shepherd's flageolet 

As tmiefully as when they wont to crouch 

Beneath the banks to catch the pipings low 

Of old Theocritus, and hear him triU 

Bucolic songs, and Amoebaean lays. 

And still, Sicilian Ai'ethusa, still. 

Though Etna dry thee up, or frosts enchain, 



SICILIAN AEETHUSA. 23 

Thy music shall be heard, for poets high 

Have dijDp'd their wreaths in thee, and by their praise 

Made thee immortal as themselves. Thy flowers, 

Transplanted, an eternal bloom retain, 

Rooted in words that cannot fade or die. 

Thy liquid gush and guggling melody 

Have left undying echoes in the bowers 

Of tuneful poesy. Thy very name, 

Sicilian Arethusa, had been di'own'd 

In deep oblivion, but that the buoyant breath 

Of bards uplifted it, and bade it swim 

Adown th' eternal lapse, assm^ed of fame, 

Till all things shall be swallowed up in death. — 

"Where, Immortality! where canst thou fomid 

Thy throne unperishing, but in the hymn 

Of the true bard, whose breath encrusts his theme 

Like to a petrifaction, which the stream 

Of time will only make more durable? 



24 THE SHKIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 



THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 
Suggested by a passage in the second Book of Apollonius Rhodius. 

P'resh was the breeze, and the rowers plied 
Their oars with simidtaneous motion, 

When the Ai'go sail'd in her stately pride 
By the laurel'd shores of the Pontic Ocean. 

The island of Mars with its palmy coves. 
The sacred Mount, and Aretia's strands. 

And Philyra's Isle with its linden groves, 
And Ophir's flood with its shelly sands, — 

Swiftly they passed — ^till, stretching far, 
On their right Bechiria's coast appears, 

^Miere painted Sapirians, fierce in war. 
Bristle the beach w4th bow^s and spears. 



THE SHRIEK OF PKOMETHEUS. 25 

At distance they saw tlie sun-beams quiver 
Wliere the long- sought towers of Colchis stood, 

And mark'd the foam of the Phasis river, 
As it flung from its rocky mouth the flood. 

The Ai'gonauts gaze with hungiy eyes 

On the land enrich' d by the Golden Fleece, — 

Already in fancy they grasp the prize, 

And hear the shouts of applauding Greece. 

Jason looked out with a proud delight, 
Castor and Pollux stood hand in hand, 

Showing each other the welcome sight ; 

WTiile fierce Meleager unsheath'd his brand. 

Laocbon bade the rowers check 

Their oars, as the sun to the water slanted. 
For Orpheus sate with his harp on the deck, 

And sweetly the hymn of evening chanted, 



26 THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 

While the heroes around, at each pause of sound, 
Stretched their right hands to the god of day, 
And fervently joined in the choral lay. 

The Hymn of Orpheus. 
Twin-bom Math Dian in the Delos isle, 

Which after the Ogygian deluge thou 
Didst first illume with renovating smile, 

Apollo! deign to hear oui- evening vow. 

Chorus. 
When thou'rt dim, oui' harp and hjrmn 

Thy downward com'se shaU follow: 
Hail to thee! — hail to thee! 

Hail to thee, Apollo! 

God of the art that heals the shatter' d frame. 
And poetry that soothes the woimded mind. 

Ten thousand temples, honoui-'d with thy name. 
Attest thy ceaseless blessings to manldnd. 



THE SHKIEK OF PEOMETHEIJS. 27 

Chorus. 
When thou'rt dim, om* harp and hymn 

Thy downward com-se shall follow, 
Hail to thee! — hail to thee! 

Hail to thee, Apollo! 

Thy golden bow emits a gushing strain 
Of music when the Pythian serpent dies: 

His eyes flash fire — his writhings plough the plain: 
Hissing he leaps aloft — then lifeless lies. 

Chorus. 
AVlien thou'rt dim, our harp and hjvan 

Thy downward com^se shall follow. 
Hail to thee! — hail to thee! 

Hail to thee, Apollo! 

Pan of his pipe and rural science proud, 

Dreamt that his music might with thine aspire; 

The mountain Tmolus was the judge — and bow'd 
His nodding woods in homage to thy lyre. 



28 THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 

Chorus. 
^\^len thoii'rt dim, M'ith harp and hpnn 

Thy downward coui'se we follow. 
Hail to thee ! hail to thee ! 

Hail to thee, Apollo! 

From bowers of Daphne or Parnassus' Mount, 
WTiile Delphic girls their lo Paeans sing, 

The gifted Muses by Castalia's Foimt 

With choral s}Tnphonies salute theii* king. 

Cho7ms. 
When thou'rt dim, with harp and hymn 

Thy downward com-se we follow. 
Hail to thee! hail to thee! 

Hail to thee, Apollo! 

God of the golden lyre and lam*el \\Teath, 
To thee each poet turns with yearning heart 

And thoughtful eyes, invoking thee to breathe 
Thine inspiration 



THE SHEIEK OF PEOMETHEUS. 29 

With a start 
The minstrel ceased, — for over all the bark 

A baleful shadow on a svidden spread! 
The Argonauts look'd up, and saw a dark 

And monstrous eagle hovering o'er their head; 
So vast and fearful, that transfix'd and pale 

They stood, with wild amaze o'ertaken : — 
The vessel trembles, and the shivering sail 

Flaps as if with terror shaken. 
Entranced they gazed — and silent till 

Philas, the son of Bacchus seized his bow, 

And would have aim'd it at the feather" d foe, 
But Mopsus, gifted with an augm-'s skill, 

Gently held back his arm, and bade him wait 
This dread portent — pronounce no word, 
Nor dare to challenge Jove's owm bird, 

The minister of unrelenting fate. 

Extending now his oar-like wings. 

Twice round the ship the monster swings, 



30 THE SHRIEK OF PEOMETHEUS. 

As if prepared to pounce upon his prey; 
His eyes from forth their sable shroud 
Shot foe, like lightning from a cloud; 

But with a sudden dart he nish'd away, 
And clove the northward distance, where 

The heights of Caucasus their barrier tlirow, 
AMiere crag on crag, chaotic giants bare 
Their granite foreheads to the sky, and sit 

In desolate state beneath their crowTis of snow 
Within these topmost peaks, there is a pit, — 

A dizzy, gaunt, precipitous ravine. 
Upon whose rocky floor environ' d round 

With walls of ice — by every eye unseen, 
With adamantine chains Prometheus lies bound. 



Thither the ravenous wonder wing'd his flight. 
They saw him clear the intervening height. 

And sink behind it :^every eye 
Is fix'd upon the spot, and every heart 



THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 31 

Thi"obs with expectant agony, — 
But nought is seen — no sounds impart 

The secret of that dread abyss: — 
Still do they gaze, half-willing to dismiss 
Their fears and hopes, for over plain and hill, 
And smiling ocean — all is hush'd and still. 

Gracious God, what a shriek! 
The monster with his beak 

Is tearing out his victim's heart! 
Lo! as that desolating cry 
Echoes from the mountains high. 

And throws its fear afar, a start 
Of horror seems to darken nature's face. — 

Athwart the quaking deep. 

Revolting shudders creep, 
Earth trembles to her very base — 
Ail' seems to swoon — the sky to frown — 
The sun with ghastly glare shrinks faster down. — 



32 THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 

Hark! what a fiu-ious clash of chams! 
Victnn! thou never canst milock 
The brazen bolts that root thee to the rock; 
Vain are thy struggles and con^^ilsive strains. 
Ah me! what cbeadful gi'oans are those 

Wrung from the very depths of agonies: — 
Now weaker moanings rise, till, worn with woes, 

The fainting WTetch exhausted lies, 
And all agam is grim repose. 

But still with tlu'obbing breasts and steadfast eyes 

The heroes gazed upon the mountain's peak. 
Till gorged with gore they saw the monster rise 

With blood-staLn'd claws, and breast, and beak: 
And as above them he resumed his flight, 

Th" arrested vessel shakes. 

The flapping main-sail quakes, 
And all seem'd tm-ned to statues at the sight, 
All but the son of Bacchus, who 

With flashing eyes and visage red, 



THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 33 

Again uprear'd his bow and drew 
His longest arrow to the head.— 

When from the eagle's beak a di'op of gore, 

(The heart's blood of Prometheus) fell 
Warm on his hand! upon the vessel's floor 

Down fell his bow; — with shuddering yell, 
And haggard eyes still staring on the drop. 
He staggers back, clasping the mast to prop 
His fainting limbs. Upon the pilot's forehead 

The dews of terror stood, 

And all in awe-struck mood 
Ponder' d in silence on that omen horrid. 

The sun went down, and far into the gloom 

The monster shot away, — but none 
Of the bewilder' d Argonauts resume 

The vessel's guidance as her way she won. — 
None spake — none moved — all sate in blank dismay, 

Revolving in their minds this dread portent; 



34 THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 

And thus, abandoned to the sway 

Of the blind wind and watery element, 
Through the w^hole night the Ai-go bore 
Those thi'obbing hearts along the Pontic shore. 



THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. 35 



THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. 



O SCENE of enchantinent ! O vision of bliss! 
What Paradisaical glory is this! 
A garden! a garden! rapturous sight! 
More stately in beauty, more rich in delight, 
Than any the Muse, in her leafiest hour, 
Has fabled of golden Hesperian bower. 
Or Fortunate Islands, or fields where the blest 
In Elysium's sylvan beatitudes rest. 
Lovely or rare, none can compare 
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair! 
d2 



36 THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. 

Well, well may its flow"rets thus brightly expand, 
For they feel the fresh touch of the Deity's hand; 
And the trees that are rustling their branches on high. 
Are raising theii- arms and their voice to the sky, 
To give thanks to the Lord, at whose fiat sublime 
They sprung from the earth in matm-ity's prime; 
And the newly-born river that flows at their feet. 
Is lisping an anthem its Maker to greet. 
Lovely or rare, none can compare 
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair! 

\Miat odorous incense upsprings from the sod, 

Which has lately been press'd by the foot of its God ! 

What fragrance Sabaean the zephyrs exhale, 

WTiere celestial breath has been left on the gale! 

Behold! how the fruits deeply blush, where the sun 

Has stamp'd his first kiss upon every one! 

And hark! how the birds in sweet choral accord, 

Send their voices' fiirst offerings up to the Lord! 

Lovely or rare, none can compare 

With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair! 



THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. 37 

No solace is wanting, no charms that dispense 
A rival delight to the soul and the sense; 
It is blissful to quaff the nectareous air; 
To pluck from the branches ambrosial fare; 
To list to the music of birds and of trees, 
The chiming of waters, the song of the breeze; 
To gaze on the Paradise blooming around, 
And scent the rich breath of its flowery ground. 
Lovely or rare, none can compare 
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair! 

The creatures now savage, not then beasts of prey, 
'Mid the flocks and the herds fondly pasture and play: 
The lion lies do^vn with the kidling; the lamb 
Disports with the tiger; the wolf with its dam; 
The elephant, twining his trimk round the boughs 
Of the palm, scatters dates for his friends to carouse ; 
The giraffe plucks the high-growing fruits ; and each beast 
Makes the banquet of Nature a fellowship feast. 
Lovely or rare, none can compare 
With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fail* ! 



38 THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. 

'Tis the garden of Eden, where joy, peace, and love, 

Join the creatures below to their Maker above. 

Behold! from yon verdant alcove, hand in hand, 

Wander Adam and Eve, till admii-ing they stand 

Beneath the resplendent pre-eminent tree 

Of knowledge, whose fruit is forbidden. And see! 

In the guise of a sei-pent, where Satan appears. 

And whispers melodious guilt in their ears. 

Lovely or rare, none can compare 

With this heaven on earth so sui'passingly fair! 

O horror of horrors! the dark deed is done: 

They have tasted the fruit. Lo! the shuddering sim 

Rushes out of the sky; all is teiTor and gloom. 

The tears of the angels bewailing man's doom, 

Rain woe upon eai'th; the wild animals roar. 

As their fangs, stainless once, are polluted with gore; 

Flocks and herds fly before them, astounded, aghast; 

Shi'ieks of anguish are borne on the tenible blast. 

Fear and despaii* are on earth and in air. 

For thunder has ravaged that garden so fair. 



THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. 39 

Degraded, ashamed, sinful Adam and Eve 
From its precincts are diiven to toil and to grieve; 
Then earth gave a groan, a soul-harrowing somid, 
And thrill'd in her depths with a shudder profound, 
That rather' d each Paradise tree to its root, 
And shook down for ever and ever its fruit. 
And scattered the rivers, — till all was o'erthrown, 
That the site of the garden might never be known. 
And Record is all that is left, since the fall, 
Its exquisite beauties and bliss to recall. 

Then, then in the desert's profoimdest abj^ss, 

Where the winds o'er the waste fiercely whistle and hiss, 

In the blackness of night, with convulsions and throes. 

Did Earth her sepulchral recesses unclose, 

And heave up a monster, the world to aflfright, 

Terrific of purpose, tremendous in might, 

Though his features to none might he ever reveal. 

Gladness and mirth fled fr-om the earth. 

When that fearful in\isible monster had birth. 



40 THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. 

The hopes and the courage of A.dam to daunt, 

It ceased not, the spectre, his footsteps to haunt; 

His children it touch' d, and converted to dust 

In a moment his tenderest objects of trust; 

Birds and beasts fell around him ; where'er Adam walk'd, 

Before him, in fancy, the mm*derer stalk' d ; 

More di'ead to the heart when imseen by the eye, 

'Twas vain from the phantom to hide or to fly; 

Wrinkles and bloom met the same doom, — 

One touch of the Gorgon sent all to the tomb. 

It lurk'd in the wave, in the air, in the bower, — 
An ubiquitous cm'se, an all-withering power, — 
Still snatching from Adam his hope and his joy. 
And scaring with di'ead when it fail'd to destroy ; 
Till weakened with age, worn with sorrow and fear. 
He felt a cold hand on his heart, and his ear 
Was chill' d by the spectre's cadaverous breath, 
As in accents sepulcliral it groan' d — I am Death !" 



THE SANCTUARY. 41 



THE SANCTUARY. 

In Israel was many a refuge city, 

Whereto the blameless homicide might flee. 

And claim protection, sustenance, and pity, 
Safe from the blood-avenger's enmity, 

Until the law's acquittal sent him thence. 
Free from offence. 



Round old cathedral, abbey-church, and palace, 
Did we ourselves a sanctuary draw, 

Where no stern creditor could glut his malice, 
And even criminals might brave the law; 

For judge nor justice in that charter'd verge 
Their rights could m-ge. 



42 THE SANCTFARY. 

These times are gone; felons and kna\Tish debtors 
Maymom-n the change, but who bewails their case? 

For why should God and King be made abettors 
Of guilt and fraud, the champions of the base ? 

Never may such a desecration stain 
Om- land again! 

But all are not divested of theii' charter ; 

One refuge still is left for human woes. 
Victim of care ! or persecution's martjT ! 

Who seek'st a sure asylum from thy foes, 
Learn that the holiest, safest, pm-est, best. 
Is man's own breast ! 

There is a solemn sanctuary foimded 
By God himself; not for transgressors meant; 

But that the man opprest, the S2Dii'it-wounded, 
And all beneath the world's injustice bent, 

Might tm'n from outward wrong, tm'moil, and din, 
To peace within. 



THE SANCTUARY. 43 

Each bosom is a temple ; when its altar, 
The living heart, is miprofaned and pure. 

Its verge is hallow' d; none need fear or falter 
Who thither fly; it is an ark secure, 

Winning, above a world o'erwhelm'd with wrath, 
Its peaceful path. 

O Bower of Bliss! O Sanctuary holy! 

Terrestrial • antepast of heavenly joy! 
Never! oh, never may misdeed or foUy 

My claim to thy beatitudes destroy! 
Still may I keep this Paradise unlost, 
Where'er I'm tost. 

E'en in the flesh, the spii-it disembodied, 

Uncheck'd by time and space, may soar elate, 

In silent awe to commune with the Godhead, — 
Or the millennium reign anticipate, 

When earth shall be all sanctity and love, 
Like heaven above. 



44 THE SANCTUARY. 

How sweet to turn fi'om anguish, guilt, and madness, 
From scenes where strife and timiult never cease, 

To that Elysian world of bosom' d gladness. 
Where all is silence, charity, and peace; 

And sheltered fi-om the storm the soul may rest 
On its own nest! 

^V^len, spleenful as the sensitive Mimosa, 

We shrink from winter's touch and Natui'e's gloom. 

There may we conjui-e up a Vallombrosa, 

Where groves and bowers in summer beauty bloom. 

And the heait dances in the sunny glade 
Fancy has made. 

But, would we dedicate to nobler uses. 

This bosom sanctuary, let us there 
Hallow our hearts from all the world's abuses; 

"While high and charitable thoughts and pray'r, 
May teach us gratitude to God, combined 
With love of kind. 



THE SANCTUARY. 45 

Reader! this is no lay unfelt and hollow, 
But prompted by the happy, grateful heart 

Of one who, having humbly tried to follow 
The path he coimsels, would to thee impart 

The love and holy quiet which have blest 
His own calm breast. 



46 THE POPFY. 



THE POPPY. 

The man who roams by wild-flower' d ditch or hedge 

Skirting the mead. 

Or treads the cornfield path — along its edge, 

May mark a weed, 

Whose ragged scarlet gear might well denote 

A road-side beggar in a soldier's coat. 

Hence! terms misplaced, and thoughts disparaging! 

O Poppy Flower! 
Thou art the Croesus of the field — its king — 

A mystic power, 
With emblems deep and secret blessings fraught, 
And potent properties that baffle thought. 



THE POPPY. 47 

When thy hues catch, amid the growing corn? 

The traveller's eye, 
" Weeds! weeds!" he cries, and shakes his head in scorn: 

But when on high 
The grain upHfts its harvest-bearing crest, 

The Poppy's hidden, and the taunt suppress'd. 

So, when oui* early state is poor and mean, 

Oui' portion small, 

Our scarlet-blushing moral weeds are seen, 

And blamed by aU; 

But as we rise in rank we win repute. 

Our faults gold-hidden, our accusers mute. 

Why does the Poppy with its chaliced store 

Of opiate rare,* 

Flush in the fields, and grace the hovel door, 

But to declare 

That, from the City's palaces forlorn. 

Sleep flies to bless the cottage in the corn? 

* The opium is principally extracted from the white poppy. 



.48 THE POPPY. 

And Oh I how precious is the Anodyne 

Its cells exude. 

Charming the mind's disquietude malign 

To peaceful mood. 

Soothing the body's anguish with its balm, 

Lulling the restless into slumbers calm. 

^^^lat tho' the reckless suicide— oppress'd 

By feU despair, 

Turns to a poison-cup ^thy chalice, bless' d 

With gifts so rare; 

And basely flj'ing, while the brave remain. 

Deserts the post God gave him to maintain. 

Such art perverted does but more enhance 

That higher power, 

\Miich, planting by the com — (man's sustenance,) 

The Poppy flower. 

Both in one soil, one atmosphere theii- breath. 

Rears, side by side, the means of life and death! 



THE POPPY. 49 

Who, who can mark thee, Poppy, when the aii* 

Fans thy lips bright, 

Nor move his own in sympathetic prayer 

To Him whose might 

Combined the powers — thought-bewildering deed! 

Of death — sleep — health — oblivion — in a weed ! 



VOL. I. 



50 THE MTJRDERER's CONFESSION-: 



THE MUKDERER'S CONFESSION. 



I PAUSED not to question the Devil's suggestion, 

But o'er the cliff, headlong, the li-s-ing was throwTi; 
A scream and a plasliing, a foam and a flashing, 
And the smothering water accomplish' d his slaughter, 
All was silent, and I was alone ! 



With heart-thrilling spasm I leant o'er the chasm; 

There was blood on the wave that closed o'er his head, 
And in bubbles his breath, as he struggled with death, 

Rose up to the sui'face. I shudder'd and fled. 



THE MTJRDEREIl's CONFESSION. 51 

With footsteps that staggered and countenance haggard, 
I stole to my dwelling, bewilder' d, dismay' d. 

Till whisperings stealthy said — " Psha! he was wealthy, 
Thou'rt his heir — no one saw thee — ^then be not 
afraid." 

I summon'd the neighbours, I join"d in their labours. 

We sought for the missing by day and by night; 
We ransack' d each single height, hollow, or dingle, 
Till shoreward we wended, when starkly extended, 

His corpse lay before us — Oh God! what a sight! 

And yet was there nothing for terror or loathing. 
The blood had been washed from his face and his clothing, 
But by no language, no pen, his life-like wide open 

Eyes can be painted; — 
They stared at me, flared at me, angrily glared at me, 

I felt mui'der- attainted; 

Yet my guilty commotion seem'd truth and deyotion. 

When I shuddered and fainted. 
E 2 



52 THE murderer's confession. 

No hiiit finds emission that breathes of suspicion, 
None dare utter a sound when an inquest has found 

His death accidental; 
Wlience then and wherefore, having nothing to cai'e for. 

These agonies mental? 
"Why grieve and why sicken, frame-wither'd, soul-stricken ? 

Age-paralysed, sickly, he must have died quickly, 

Each day brought some new ill; 
Why leave him to languish and straggle with anguish, 
The deed that reHeved him from all that aggi-ieved him. 
Was kindly, not cruel. 



In procession extended a funeral splendid, 

With banner' d displays and escutcheons emblazon* d, 

To church slowly pass'd. 
When a di*ead apparition astounded my ^4sion; 
Like an aspen leaf shaking, dimifounded and quaking, 

I stood aU aghast! 



THE MUEDERER'S CONFESSION. 53 

From its nail'd coffiii prison the corpse had arisen, 
And in all its shroud vesture, with menacing gesture. 
And eye-balls that stared at me, flared at me, glared 

at me, 
It pointed — it flouted its slayer, and shouted 

In accents that thrill' d me, 
" That ruthless dissembler, that guilt-stricken trembler, 

Is the villain who kill'd me!" 

'Twas fancy's creation — mere hallucination — 

A lucky delusion, for again my confusion, 

Guilt's evidence sinister, seem'd to people and minister 

The painful achievement of grief and bereavement. 

Then why these probations, these self-condemnations 

Incessant and fearful? 
Some with impunity snatch opportunity, 
Slay — and exult in concealment's immunity; 
Free from forebodings and heartfelt corrodings. 
They fear no disclosure, no public exposm^e. 



54 THE murdeeer's confession. 

And sleeping unliauntecl, and waking undaunted, 
Live happy and cheerful. 

To 'scape the ideal let me dwell on the real, 

I, a pauper so lately, 
In abundance possessing life's every blessing, 
Fine steeds in my stable, rare wines on my table. 
Servants dress' d gaily, choice banquets daily, 
A wife fond and beautiful, childi*en most dutiful, 
I, a pauper so lately, live rich and greatly, 

In a mansion-house stately. 

Life's blessings? O liar! all are curses most dii-e. 

In the midst of my revels. 
His eyes ever stare at me, flare at me, glare at me. 
Before me when treading my manors outspreading, 
There yawns an abysmal cliff precipice dismal. 
Isolation has vanish' d, all silence is banish' d. 
Where'er I immew me his death shrieks pursue me, 

I am hunted by devils. 



THE MUEDERER S CONFESSION. 55 

My wine clear and ruddy seems turbid and bloody, 
I cannot quaff water: — recalling his slaughter, 
My terror it doubles — 'tis beaded with bubbles, 

Each fill'd with his breath. 
And in every glass each hisses — " Assassin ! 
My curse shall affiright thee, haunt, harrow, and blight 
thee 

In life and in death !" 



My daughters, their mother, contend with each other 
WTio shall show most affection, best soothe my dejec- 
tion: 
Revolting endearments ! their garments seem cerements, 
And I shudder with loathing at theii' grave-tainted 
clothing. 

Home and the mercies 
That to others are dearest, to me are the di-earest 
And deadliest curses. 



56 THE murderer's confession. 

When free from this en^or I thrill with the terror, 

(Thought hoiTid to dwell on!) 
That the ^\Tetch whom they cherish may shamefully 

perish, 
Be publicly gibbetted, branded, exhibited, 

As a murderous felon ! 

O punishment hellish! the house I embellish 
From centre to corner upbraids its adorner, — 
A door's lowest creaking swells into a shrieking, 
Against me each colimm bears CA-idence solemn, 

Each statue 's a Nemesis. 
They follow, infest me, they strive to arrest me. 
Till in terrified sadness that verges on madness, 

I rush from the premises. 

The country's amenity brings no serenity. 
Each rural sound seeming a menace or screaming. 
There is not a bii'd or beast but cries — " Mm-der ! 
TJiere goes the ofiender! 



THE MUKDEKER's CONFESSION. 57 

Dog him, waylay him, encompass him, stay him, 
And make him smrender!" 



My flower-beds splendid seem eyes blood-distended, 

His eyes, ever flaring, and staring, and glaring! 

I turn from them quickly, but phantoms more sickly 

Drive me hither and thither. 
I would forfeit most gladly wealth stolen so madly, 
Quitting grandeur and revehy to fly from this devilry, 

But whither — O whither? 



Hence idle delusions ! hence fears and confusions ! 
Not a single friend's severance lessens men's reverence, 
No neighbour of rank quits my sumptuous banquets 

Without lauding their donor; 
Throughout the wide coimty I'm famed for my bounty, 

All hold me in honour. 



58 THE MURDERERS CONFESSION. 

Let the dotard and craven by fear be enslaven. 

They have vanished! How fast fly these images ghastly, 

When in fii-m self-reliance, 
You determine on treating the brain's sickly cheating, 

With scorn and defiance ! 



Ha ha! I am fearless henceforward and tearless, 
No coinage of fancy, no di-eam's necromancy 
Shall sadden and darken — God help me ! — hist — harken ! 
'Tis the shriek soul-appalling he utter'd when falling! 



By day thus affi-ighted, 'tis worse when benighted; 
With the clock's midnight boom, from the church on his 

tomb, 
There comes a sharp screaming too fearful for dreaming ; 
Bone fingers unholy draw the foot cui'tains slowly, 
O God ! how they stare at me, flare at me, glare at me, 
Those eyes of a Gorgon! 



THE MUEDEKER's CONFESSION. 59 

Beneath the clothes sinking with shuddering shrinking, 
A mental orgasm and bodily spasm 
Convulse every organ. 



Nerves a thousand times stronger could bear it no longer. 

Grief, siclaiess, compimction, dismay in conjunction, 

Nights and days ghost-j^rolific, more grim and terrific 
Tlian judges and juries, 

Make the heart wTithe and falter more than gibbet and 
halter. 

Arrest me, secure me, seize, handcuff, immure me! 

I own my transgression — will make fidl confession, 

Quick — quick ! Let me plunge in some dark- vaulted dun- 
geon, 

Where, tho' tried and death-fated, I may not be baited 
By devils and fui'ies ! 



60 THE CONTRAST. 



THE CONTRAST. 

[Written under Windsor Terrace, the day after the Funeral of 
George the Third.] 



I SAW him last on this Terrace proud, 

Walking in health and gladness, 
Begirt with his Coui't; and in all the crowd 

Not a single look of sadness. 

Bright was the sun, and the leaves were green, 

Blithely the birds were singing, 
The cymbal replied to the tambourine. 

And the bells were merrily ringing. 

I have stood with the crowd beside his bier, 

When not a word was spoken; 
But every eye was dim with a tear, 

And the silence by sobs was broken. 



THE CONTRAST. 61 

1 have heard the earth on his coffin pour 

To the muffled drum's deep rolling, 
While the minute-gim with its solemn roar, 

Drown'd the death-bell's tolling. 

The time since he walk'd in his glory thus, 

To the grave till I saw him carried. 
Was an age of the mightiest change to us, 

But to him a night unvaried. 

We have fought the fight; — from his lofty throne 
The foe of our land we have tumbled; 

And it gladden' d each eye, save his alone, 
For whom that foe we humbled. 

A daughter belov'd — a Queen — a son — 
And a son's sole child have perish'd; 

And sad was each heart, save the only one 
By which they were fondest cherish'd. 



62 THE CONTRAST. 

For his eyes M'ere seal'd, and his mind was dark, 

And he sat in his age's lateness, 
Like a ^-ision thi'oned, as a solemn mark 

Of the frailty of human greatness. 

His silver beard o'er a bosom spread, 

Unvex'd by life's commotion, 
Like a yearly-lengthening snow-di'ift shed 

On the calm of a frozen ocean. 

0"er him oblivion's waters boom'd, 
As the stream of time kept ilomng; 

And we only heard of oiu' King when doom'd 
To know that his strength was going. 

At intervals thus the weaves disgorge, 

By weakness rent asunder, 
A part of the wi-eck of the Eoyal George, 

For the people's pity and vvonder. 



THE BAED's song TO HIS DATJGHTER. 63 



THE BARD'S SONG TO HIS DAUGHTER. 

O Daitghtee, dear, my darling child, 

Prop of my mortal pilgrimage. 
Thou who hast care and pain beguiled, 

And wreathed with Spring my wintry age,- 
Through thee a second prospect opes 

Of life, when but to live is glee, 
And jocund joys, and youthful hopes. 

Come thronging to my heart through thee. 



Backward thou lead'st me to the bowers 

A\Tiere love and youth theii* transports gave; 

WTiile forward still thou strewest flowers. 
And bidst me live beyond the grave. 



64 THE bard's song to his daughter. 

For still my blood in thee shall flow, 
Perhaps to warm a distant line, 

Thy face my lineaments shall show, 

And e'en my thoughts survive in thine. 



Yes, Daughter, when this tongue is mute — 

This heart is dust — ^these eyes are closed, 
And thou art singing to thy lute 

Some stanza by thy sire composed. 
To friends around thou mayst impart 

A thought of him who wrote the lays, 
And from the gi-ave my form shall start. 

Embodied forth to fancy's gaze. 



Then to their memories will throng 

Scenes shared with him who lies in earth, 

The cheerful page, the lively song. 
The woodland walk, or festive mirth; 



THE BAED's song TO HIS DAUGHTER. 65 

Then may they heave the pensive sigh 
That friendship seeks not to control, 

And from the fix'd and thoughtful eye 
The half miconscious tears may roll: — 

Such now bedew my cheek — ^but mine 

Are drops of gratitude and love, 
That mingle human with divine — 

The gift below, its source above. — 
How exquisitely dear thou art 

Can only be by tears express' d, 
And the fond thrillings of my heart 

WTiile thus I clasp thee to my breast. 



VOL. I. 



66 THE FLOWER THAT FEELS NOT SPRING. 



THE FLOWER THAT FEELS NOT SPRING. 

From the prisons dark of the circling bark 
The leaves of tenderest green are glancing; 

They gambol on high in the bright blue sky, 
Fondly with spring's young Zephyi's dancing, 

While music and joy and jubilee gush 

From the lark and linnet, the blackbird and thrush. 

The buttei-fly springs on its new-bom wings. 
The dormouse starts from his wintry sleeping; 

The flowers of earth find a second bii'th, 

To light and life from the darkness leaping: 

The roses and tulips will soon resume 

Their youth's first perfume and primitive bloom. 



THE FLOWER THAT FEELS NOT SPRING. 67 

What renders me sad when all natui'e glad 
The heart of each living creature cheers? 

I laid in the bosom of earth a blossom, 
And water' d its bed with a father's tears; 

But the grave has no spring, and I still deplore 

That the flow'ret I planted comes up no more! 

That eye, whose soft blue of the firmament's hue, 
Express'd all holy and heavenly things, — 

Those ringlets bright, which scatter'd a light 

Such as angels shake from their sunny wings, — 

That cheek, in whose jfreshness my heart had trust — 

AU — all have perish' d — my daughter is dust! 

Yet the blaze sublime of thy vii'tue's prime, 
Still gilds my tears and a balm supplies. 

As the matin ray of the god of day 

Brightens the dew which at last it dries: 

Yes, Fanny! I cannot regTet thy clay, 

When I think where thy spirit has wing'd its way. 
f2 



68 THE FLOWEH THAT FEELS NOT SPRING. 

So wither we all — so flom-isli and fall, 

Like the flowers and weeds that in churchyai-ds wave ; 
Our leaves we spread over comi-ades dead, 

And blossom and bloom with our root in the gi'ave ; — 
Springing from earth, into earth we are thrust. 
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust! 

If death's worst smart is to feel that we part 
From those we love and shall see no more, 

It softens its sting to know that we wing 

Oui- flight to the friends who have gone before; 

And the grave is a boon and a blessing to me, 

If it waft me, Fanny, my daughter, to thee ! 



MORAL RUINS. 69 



MORAL RUINS. 

Asia's rock-hollow' d Fanes, first-born of Time, 
In sculpture's prime, 

Wrought by the ceaseless toil of many a race, 
Whom none may trace, 

Have crumbled back to wastes of ragged stone, 

And formless caverns, desolate and lone; — 

Egypt's stern Temples, whose colossal moimd, 

Sphinx-guarded, frown' d 

From brows of Granite challenges to Fate, 
And human hate, 

Ai-e giant ruins in a desert land. 

Or sunk to sculptured quarries in the sand. 



70 MORAL KTJINS. 

The marble miracles of Greece and Rome, 

Temple and Dome, 

Art's masterpieces, awful in th' excess 
Of loveliness, 

Hallow' d by statued Gods which might be thought 

To be themselves by the Celestials wrought, 

Where are they now? — their majesty august 
Grovels* in dust. 

Time on their altars prone their ruins flings 
As offerings. 

Forming a lair whence ominous bird and brute 

Their wailful Misereres howl and hoot. 

Down firom its height the Druid's sacred stone 
In sport is tliro\NTi, 

And many a Christian Fane have change and hate 
Made desolate, 

Prostrating saint, apostle, statue, bust, 

With Pagan deities to mingle dust. 



MORAL HTJINS. 71 

On these drear sepulchres of buried days 

How sad to gaze! 
Yet, since their substances were perishable, 

And hands unstable 
Uprear'd their piles, no wonder that decay- 
Both man and monument should sweep away. 

Ah me ! how much more sadden' d is my mood, 
How heart- subdued. 

The ruins and the wrecks when I behold 
By time unroU'd, 

Of all the Faiths that man hath ever known, 

World- worshipp'd once — now spurn'd and overthrown ! 

Religions — from the soul deriving breath, 

Should know no death; 

Yet do they perish, mingling their remains 
With fallen fanes; 

Creeds, canons, dogmas, councils, are the wi-eck'd 

And mouldering Masonry of Intellect. 



72 MORAL RUINS. 

Apis, Osiris, paramount of yore 

On Egypt's shore, 

Woden and Thor, through the mde North adored, 
With blood outpoui-'d; 

Jove, and the multiform Divinities, 

To whom the Pagan nations bow'd theii- Imees, — 

Lo! they are cast aside, dethroned, forlorn, 
Defaced, out-Avorn, 

Like the world's childish dolls, which but insult 
Its age adult. 

Or prostrate scarecrows, on whose rags we tread. 

With scorn proportion'd to oui' former di-ead. 

Alas for human reason! all is change 

Ceaseless and strange ; 

All ages form new systems, leading heii'S 
To cancel theirs: 

The future can but imitate the past. 

And instability alone will last. 



MORAL KUINS. 73 

Is there no compass left, by which to steer 
This erring sphere? 

No tie that may indissolubly bind 

To God, mankind? 

No code that may defy time's sharpest tooth? 

No fix'd, immutable, mierring truth? 

There is ! there is ! — one primitive and sm'e 

Religion pure, 
Unchanged in spirit, though its fonns and codes 

Wear myriad modes. 

Contains all creeds within its mighty span 

The love of God, displayed in love of Man. — 

This is the Christian's faith, when rightly read; — 
Oh ! may it spread 

Till Earth, redeem' d from every hateftd leaven, 

Makes peace with Heaven: 

Below — one blessed brotherhood of love ; 

One Father — worshipp'd with one voice — above ! 



74 MORAL ALCHEMY. 



MORAL ALCHEMY. 

The toils of Alchemists, whose vain pursuit 

Sought to transmute 

Dross into gold, — their secrets and theii* store 

Of mystic lore, 

^\^lat to the jibing modem do they seem? 

An ignis fatuus chase, a phantasy, a dream! — 

Yet for enlighten' d moi^al Alchemists 

There still exists 

A philosophic stone, whose magic spell 

No tongue may tell, 

Which renovates the soul's deca}ing health, 

And what it touches turns to purest mental wealth. 



MOEAL ALCHEMY. 75 

This secret is reveard in every trace 

Of Nature's face, 

Whose seeming frown invariably tends 

To smiling ends, 

Transmuting ills into their opposite, 

And all that shocks the sense to subsequent delight. — 

Seems Earth imlovely in her robe of snow? 

Then look below, 
Where Nature in her subterranean Ai'k, 

Silent and dark, 
Already has each floral germ imfui-Fd 
That shall revive and clothe the dead and naked world. 

Behold those perish'd flowers to earth consigned — 

They, like mankind. 

Seek in their grave new birth. By nature's power 

Each in its hour 

Clothed in new beauty, from its tomb shall spring. 

And from its tube or chalice heavenward incense fling. 



76 MORAL ALCHEMY. 

Laboratories of a wider fold 

I now behold, 
Where are prepared the harvests yet unborn 

Of wine, oil, corn. — 
In those mute rayless banquet halls I see 
Myriads of coming feasts with all their revelry. — 

Yon teeming and minuter cells enclose 

The embryos 

Of fruits and seeds, food for the feather'd race. 

Whose chaunted grace. 

Swelling in choral gratitude on high, 

Shall with thanksgiving anthems melodize the sky. — 

And what materials, mystic Alchemist! 

Dost thou enlist 
To fabricate this ever- varied feast, 

For man, bird, beast? 
Whence the life, plenty, music, beauty, bloom? 
From silence, languor, death, unsightliness and gloom! — 



MOEAL ALCHEMY. 77 

From Nature's magic hand whose touch makes sadness 

Eventual gladness, 

The reverent moral Alchemist may learn 

The art to turn 

Fate's roughest, hardest, most forbidding dross, 

Into the mental gold that knows not change or loss. — 

Lose we a valued friend? — To soothe our woe 

Let us bestow 

On those who still survive an added love, 

So shall we prove, 

Howe'er the dear departed we deplore, 

In friendship's sum and substance no diminish'd store. — 

Lose we our health? — Now may we fully know 

What thanks we owe 

For our sane years, perchance of lengthen'd scope; 

Now does our hope 

Point to the day when sickness, taking flight. 

Shall make us better feel health's exquisite delight. — 



78 MORAL ALCHEMY. 

In losing fortune, many a lucky elf 

Has found himself. — 
As all our moral bitters are design" d 

To brace the mind, 

And renovate its healthy tone, the wise 

Their sorest trials hail as blessings in disguise. 

There is no gloom on earth; for God above 

Chastens in love. 

Transmuting sorrows into golden joy 

Free from alloy, 

His dearest attribute is still to bless, 

'And man's most welcome hymn is grateful cheerfulness. 



MORAL COSMETICS. 79 



MORAL COSMETICS. 

Ye who would save your features florid, 
Lithe limbs, bright eyes, unwrinkled forehead 
From age's devastation horrid, 

Adopt this plan; — 
'Twill make, in climates cold or torrid, 

A hale old man. — 

Avoid, in youth, luxurious diet. 
Restrain the passions' lawless riot; 
Devoted to domestic quiet, 

Be wisely gay : 
So shall ye, spite «f age's fiat, 

Resist decay. 



80 MORAL COSMETICS. 

Seek not in Mammon's worship pleasure, 
But find your richest, dearest treasure, 
In books, friends, music, polish'd leisure; 

The mind, not sense. 
Made the sole scale by which ye measure 

Your opulence. 

This is the solace, this the science, 
Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance, 
That disappoints not mans reliance, 

Whate'er his state; 
But challenges, with calm defiance, 

Time, fortune, fate. 



THE OLD man's PJEAN- 81 



THE OLD MANS P^AN. 

Vainly, ye libellers! your page 
Assaults and vilifies old age, 

'Tis still life's golden sera; 
Its pleasures, wisely understood, 
An unaUoy'd unfailing good. 

Its evils a chimsera. — 

Time's victim, I am victor stiU, — 
Holding the privilege at will 

To seize him by the forelock ; 
On me would he retm-n the grasp, 
He finds there 's nothing left to clasp — 

Not e'en a single hoar lock. — 

VOL. I. G 



82 THE OLD MAN S P^AN. 

We blame th' idolatrous di-s-iiie 
AVTio gilds and decorates his shrine, 

The Deity neglected; 
Yet oiu- self-adoration blind 
Is body-worship — to the mind 

No reverence directed. — 

Greybeards there are, who thinking art 
Can conquer natui'e, play the part 

Of adolescent friskers; 
Swindlers and counterfeits of truth, 
They strive to cheat us by false youth. 

False teeth, hair, eyebrows, whiskers. 

^Vllile to the frame due care I give. 
No Masquerader Mall I live. 

To no disguises pander; 
But rather seek to save from blight 
My mind in all its pristine plight 

Of cheerfulness and candom-. 



THE OLD MAN S P^AK. 

A youthful cheer sustains us old, 
As arrows best their course uphold 

Wing'd by a lightsome feather. — 
Happy the young old man who thus 
Bears, like a human arbutus, 



Life"s flowers and fruit together 



To dark oblivion I bequeath 

ITie ruddy cheek, brown hair, white tcetli. 

And eyes that brightly twinkle: — 
Crows' feet may plough with furrows deep 
My featm-es, if I can but keep 

My mind without a wrinkle. 

Young, I was never free — my soul 

Still mastered by the stem control 

Of some tyi'annic passion : 

While my poor body, servile tool I 

The livery wore of fop and fool. 

An abject slave of fashion. 
G 2 



84 THE OLD man's P^AN. 

Thanks to thy welcome touch, old age! 
Which strongest chains can disengage. 

The bondsman 's manumitted : — 
Released from labour, thraldom, strife, 
I pasture in the park of life. 

Unsaddled and unbitted. 

If drawn for the Militia — call'd 
^ On Juries, where the heart is gall'd 

With crime, chicane, disaster, 
"Begone," I cry — "avaunt! avast! 
Thank heaven! I'm sixt}% and at last 

Am of myself free master.'" — 

An actor once in eveiy strife 
That agitates the stage of life, 

A lover, fearer, hater, 
Now in senility" s snug box 
I sit, aloof fi'om all their shocks, 

A passive, pleased spectator. — 



THE OLD man's P^AN. 85 

Free-traders, Chartists, Puseyites! 

Your warfare, with its wrongs and rights, 

In me no rage arouses; 
I read the news, and cry, if hui't 
At Whigs and Tories throwing dirt, 

"A plague on both your houses!" 

Tailors! avaunt your bills and spells! — 
When fashion plays on folly's bells. 

No haddock can be deafer; — 
Comfort and neatness all my care, 
I stick to broadcloth, and forswear 

Both Macintosh and Zephyr. — 

'Tis but our sensual pleasures' zest 
That time can dull ; — our purest, best 

Defy decay or capture.— 
A landscape — book — a work of art — 
My friends, my home — still fill my heart 

With undiminish'd rapture. — 



86 THE OLD man's T^AN. 

Fled some few years, old Time may tiy 
Again to wake my rhjTiie, when I, 

Obejdng the vagary. 
May thus subscribe the muse's frisk: 
"My pensive public — yoiu's! — a brisk 

Young Septuagenary !" 



ANSWER TO "an OI.D MANS P^AN. 8/ 



ANSWER TO "AN OLD MAN'S P^AN.' 

[Written {invito, Minerva) at the instigation of J. H.] 

Thou greybeard gay! whose muse — (perchance 
In second childhood's ignorance,) 

Inspired "An Old Man's Paean," 
Hear how a brother senior sings 
Sexagenarian sufferings. 

In strains antipodean! 

Young, I could take a morning's sport; 
Play matches in the Teimis Court, 

So strong was I and plastic; — 
Dine out, and yet with spirit light 
And body unfatigued, at night 

Could sport the toe fantastic. 



88 ANSWER TO " AN OLD MAN S P^AN." 

Behold me now! — my limbs are stiff: 
An open door, an east- wind's whiff, 

Brings sharp rheumatic touches; 
A chamber-horse my only nag, 
I mope at home, or slowly drag 

My gouty feet on crutches. 

Once I devour' d whatever came, 
And never linew, except by name, 

The heartburn, bile, dyspepsy: 
Now I must fast — eat what I hate. 
Or all my ailments aggravate. 

From ache to epilepsy. 

How starving Tantalus of old 
Was punish'd by the Gods, is told 

In many a classic stanza; 
And all must recollect the wand 
That whisk' d the i-iands from the hand 

Of hungry Sancho Panza : — 



ANSWER TO " AN OLD MAN's PJEAN." 89 

Their fate without their fault is mine. 
Champagne and claret, drinks di\ine 

As nectar or ambrosia, 
I may not quaff, but — (horrid bore!) 
My sherry fi*om a cruet pour 

And think of past symposia. 

At home my wife will supervise 
Each meal I take. I wish her eyes 

Were sometimes touch' d with bhndness ! 
But no — they move not from my plate: 
God bless her! how I love, yet hate 

Her ever watchful kindness. 

'' My dear ! you know you 're bilious — pray 
Avoid the turtle soup to-day, 

And do not touch the salmon; 
Just take a chicken wing, or leg. 
But no rich sauce — and let me beg 

You will not taste the gammon."' 



90 ANSWER TO "an OLD MAN's P^AN." 

Shell-fish — of yore my favoui'ite food, 
Are noAv my bane; yet crabs eschew* d. 

Might make an angel crabbed — 
No wonder if I quit the treat 
Of dainties that I may not eat, 

Half star\-ing and half rabid. 

Debarr'd by fond affection's care 
From all my palate yearns to share, 

A kindness still more cruel 
Gives me carte hlanche in all I loathe — 
Bread-puddings, sago, mutton-broth, 

Rice-milk, and water-gruel! 



INVOCATION. 91 



INVOCATION. 

[Written in the neighbourhood of Abbotsford, during the last illness of 
Sir Walter Scott.] 

Spirits! Intelligences! Passions! Dreams! 

Ghosts ! Genii ! Sprites ! 
Muses, that haunt the Heliconian streams. 

Inspiring Lights! 
Whose intellectual fires, in Scott combined. 
Supplied the sun of his omniscient mind! 

Ye who have o'er-informed and overwrought 

His teeming soul, 
Bidding it scatter galaxies of thought 

From pole to pole; 

Enlightening others till itself grew dark, — 

A midnight heaven, without one starry spark; — 



92 INVOCATION. 

Spii'its of Earth and Air — of Light and Gloom! 

Awake ! arise ! 
Restore the ^dctini ye have made — relume 

His darkling eyes. 
Wizards! be all yom- magic skill nnfurrd, 
To charm to health the Charmer of the World! 

The scabbard, by its sword outworn, repau*: 

Give to his lips 
Their lore, than Chrysostom's more rich and rare : 

Dispel the eclipse 
That intercepts his intellectual Kght, 
And saddens all mankind with tears and night. 

Not only for the Bard of liighest worth, 

But best of men. 
Do I invoke ye. Powers of Heaven and Earth! 

Oh! where and when 
Shall we again behold his counterpart — 
Such kindred excellence of head and heart? 



INVOCATION. 93 

So good and great — ^benevolent as wise — 

On his high throne 
How meeldy hath he borne his faculties! 

How finely shown 
A model to the irritable race, 
Of generous kindness, courtesy, and grace! 

If he miist die, how great to perish thus 

In Gloiy's blaze; 
A world, in requiem unanimous, 

Weeping his praise! 
While Angels wait to catch his parting breath — 
Who would not give his life for such a death? 



94 THE mother's mistake. 



THE MOTHER'S MISTAKE. 

Heard you that piercing slu-iek — the throe 
Of fear and agonising woe r 
It is a mother, who with wild 

Despairing looks and gasping breath, 
Thinks she beholds her only child 

Extended on the floor in death! 
That darling Babe whose natal cry 
Had thi-ill'd her heart with ecstasy, 
As with baptizing tears of bliss 

Her nestling treasure she bedew" d, 
Then clasp' d him with a silent kiss, 

And heavenward look'd her giatitude :— 
That darling babe who, while he press'd 
His rosebud lips around her breast, 



THE mother's mistake. 95 

Would steal an upward glance, and bless 
With smiles his mother's tenderness; 
Confining laughter to his eyes, 
Lest he should lose the teeming prize : — 
That darling Babe who, sleeping, proved, 
More than when waking, how she loved. 
Then was her ever watchful ear 

Prepared to catch the smallest noise, 
Which sometimes hope and sometimes fear 

Would liken to her infant's voice. 
With beating heart and timid flush. 

On tiptoe to his cot she crept. 
Lifting the curtain with a hush. 

To gaze upon him as he slept. 
Then woidd she place his outstretch" d arm 
Beside his body, close and warm; 
Adjust his scattered clothes aright, 
And shade his featm-es from the light, 
And look a thousand fond caressings 
And move her lips in speechless blessings. 



96 THE mother's mistake. 

Then steal away with eyes that glisten. 
Again to linger round and listen. 
Oh! can she bear to think that he 
Whom she has loved so tenderly, 
Her only earthly hope and stay, 
For ever should be wrench' d away ? 
No, no! — to such o'erpowering grief 
Oblivion brings a short relief: 
She hears no sound, aU objects swim 
Before her sight confused and dim; 
She feels each sick'ning sense decay, 
Sinks shudd'ring down, and faints away ! 

Her child revives, — its fit is o'er ; 

When with afirighted zeal it tries 
By voice and kisses to restore 

The mother's dormant faculties ; 
Till nature's tides with quicken' d force 
Resume their interi'upted course : 
Her eyes she opens, sees her boy, 



THE motheh's mistake. 97 

Gazes with sense-bewilder'd start, 
Utters a thi'illing cry of joy, 

Clasps him in transport to her heart, 
Stamps kisses on his mouth, his cheek, 
Looks up to heaven, and tries to speak ; 
But voice is di'own'd in heaving throbs, 
Outgushing tears, and gasping sobs. 



VOL. I. 



98 THE su:n^"s eclipse. 



THE SUN'S ECLIPSE.— July 8th, 1842. 

'Tis cloudless morning, but a frown misplaced, 
Cold — Im'id — strange , 

The summer smile from Nature's brow hath chased. 
What fearfril change, 

What menacing catastrophe is thus 

Usher'd by such prognostics ominous? 

Is it the light of day, this livid glare, 

Death's counterpart: — 

What means the withering coldness in the air 
That chills my heart. 

And what the gloom jDortentous that hath made 

The glow of morning a funereal shade? 



THE sun's eclipse. 99 

O'er the Sun's disc a dark orb wins its slow 
Gloom-deep'ning way, 

Climbs — spreads— enshrouds — extinguishes — and lo ! 
The god of day 

Hangs in the sky, a corpse! th' usurper's might 

Hath storm'd his throne, and quench'd the life of light ! 

A pall is on the earth — the screaming birds 

To covert speed; 
Bewilder' d and aghast, the bellowing herds 

Rush o'er the mead ; 
While men, pale shadows in the ghastly gloom, 
Seem spectral forms just risen from the tomb. 

Transient, tho' total was that di-ear eclipse : 
With might restored 

The Sun re-gladden'd earth — but human lips 
Have never poui-'d 

In mortal ears the horrors of the sight 

That thrill'd my soul that memorable night. 
H 2 



100 THE sun's eclipse. 

To every distant zone and fulgent star 

Mine eyes could reach, 

And the vdde waste was one chaotic war; 
O'er all and each, 

Above — beneath — aroimd me — everywhere, 

Was anarchy — com-ulsion — death — despair. 

"Twas noon, and yet a deep unnatui-al night 
Enshi'ouded Heaven, 

Save where some orb unsphered, or satellite 
Franticly chiven, 

Glared as it darted thi-ough the darkness di-ead. 

Blind — rudderless — uncheck'd — impiloted. 

A thousand simultaneous thunders crash'd, 
As here and there 

Some rushing planet 'gainst another dash'd, 
Shooting thi'o' air 

Volleys of shattered WTCck, when, both destroy'd. 

Founder" d and sank in the engulphing void. 



THE SUN S ECLIPSE. 101 

Others, self-kindled, as they whirl" d and tiirn'd 

Without a guide, 
Burst into flames, and rushing as they burn'd 

With range more wide, 
Like fire-ships that some stately fleet surprise, 
Spread havoc tlu-o' the constellated skies. 

While stars kept falling from their spheres — as tho' 
The heavens wept fire, 

Earth was a raging hell of war and woe 
Most deep and dire, 

Virtue was vice — vice virtue — all was strife. 

Brute force was law — -justice th' assassin's knife. 

From that fell scene my space-commanding eye 

Glad to withdraAv, 
I pierced th' empyrean palace of the sky 

And shudd'ring saw 
A vacant throne — a smi's extinguish'd sphere, 
All else a void — dark, desolate, and drear. 



102 THE sun's eclipse. 

"What mean," I cried, "these sights unparallel'd, 
These scenes of fear?" 

^^^len lo! a voice replied, and Nature held 
Her breath to hear, 

"Mortal, the scroll before thine eyes unfiirrd, 

Displays a soul eclipse — an atheist world.'' 

I woke — my dream was o'er! AVhat ecstacy 

It was to know 
That God was guide and guardian of the sky. 

That man below 
Deserved the love I felt — I could not speak 
The thrilling joy, whose tears were on my cheek! 



LACHRYMOSE WRITERS. 103 



LACHRYMOSE WRITERS. 

Ye human screech-owls, who delight 

To herald woe — whose day is night, 
Whose mental food is misery and moans. 

If ye must needs uphold the pall, 

And walk at Pleasure's fimeral, 
Be Mutes — and publish not your cries and groans. 

Near a menagerie to dwell, 

Annoy'd by ceaseless groan and yell. 
Is sad, altho' we cannot blame the brutes; 

A far worse neighbour is the man 

Whose study is a Caravan, 
Whence the caged monster ever howls and hoots. 



104 LACHRYMOSE WRITERS. 

Ye say that Earth 's a chamel — life 
Incessant wi'etchedness and strife— 

That all is doom below, and \^Tath above. 
The sun and moon sepulchral lamps, 
ITie sky a vault, whose baleful damps 

Soon blight and moulder all that Kve and love. 

Man, as youi' diatribes aver. 

Only makes reason minister 
To deeds irrational and schemes perverse ; 

Human in name, he proves in all 

His acts a hateful animal. 
And woman (monstrous caliunny) is worse. 

This earth, whose walls are stony gloom. 
Whose roof rains tears, whose floor "s a tomb 

With its chain-rattling beach and lashing waves. 
Is, ye maintain, a fitting jail 
Where felon man the woes may wail, 

From which no prudence guards, no mercy saves. 



LACHRYMOSE WRITERS. - 105 

Eeii were it true, this lachrymose 

List of imaginary woes, 
Why from oiir sympathy extort more tears? 

Why blazon grief — why make the Press 

Groan with repinings and distress. 
Why knell despaii' for ever in our ears? 

Ungrateful and calumnious crew, 

Whose plaints, as impious as untrue, 
From morbid intellects derive their birth; 

Away! begone to mope and moan, 

And weep in some asylum lone. 
Where ye may rail unheard at heaven and earth. 

Earth! on whose stage in pomp array' d 
Life's joyous interlude is play'd. 

Earth ! with thy pageants ever new and bright. 
Thy woods and waters, hills and dales, 
How dead must be the soul that fails 

To see and bless thy beauties infinite! 



106 LACHRYMOSE WRITEflS. 

Man! whose high intellect supplies 

A never-failing Paradise 
Of holy and enrapturing pursuits, 

Whose heart "s a fount of fresh delight, 

Pity the Cjnics who would blight 
Thy godlike gifts, and rank thee with the brutes. 

Oh Woman! who from realms above 

Hast brought to Earth the heaven of love, 
Terrestrial angel, beautiful as pure! 

No pains, no penalties dispense 

On thy traducers — their offence 
Is its own punishment most sharp and sm-e. 

Father and God! whose love and might 

To every sense are blazon' d bright 
On the vast thi'ee-leaved Bible — earth — sea — sky, 

Pardon th" impugners of thy laws, 

Expand their hearts, and give them cause 
To bless th' exhaustless grace they now deny. 



WHY ARE THEY SHUT r 107 



WHY ARE THEY SHUT? 



The following Stanzas were composed while the author was sitting 
outside a Country Church in Sussex, much regretting that, as 
it was week day, he could not gain admittance to the sacred 
edifice. 



Why are our Churches shut with jealous care, 
Bolted and barr'd against our bosom's yearning, 

Save for the few short hours of Sabbath prayer, 
With the bell's tolling statedly returning? 

AATiy are they shut? 

If with diurnal drudgeries o'er wrought, 
Or sick of dissipation's didl vagaries, 

We wish to snatch one little space for thought, 
Or holy respite in our sanctuaries, 

Why are they shut? 



108 WHY ARE THEY SHUT? 

What ! shall the Chiu'ch, the House of Prayer, no more 
Give tacit notice from its fasten" d portals, 

That for six days 'tis useless to adore, 

Since God will hold no communings mth mortals: 

Why are they shut? 



Ai'e there no sinners in the churchless week, 
Who wish to sancti^' a vow'd repentance? 

Ai-e there no hearts bereft Avhich fain would seek 
The only balm for Death's unpitying sentence? 

A\Tiy are they shut? 



Ai'e there no poor, no wrong" d, no heirs of grief. 
No sick, who, when their strength or courage falters, 

Long for a moment" s respite or relief. 

By kneeling at the God of mercy's altars? 

Why are they shut? 



WHY AEE THEY SHUT? 109 

Ai'e there no wicked, whom, if tempted in, 

Some quahn of conscience or devout suggestion 

Might suddenly redeem from futm-e sin? 

Oh! if there be, how solemn is the question, 

AVhy are they shut? 



In foreign climes mechanics leave their tasks 

To breathe a passing prayer in their Cathedrals: 
There they have week-day shrines, and no one asks, 
AVhen he would kneel to them, and count his bead- 
rolls, 

Why are they shut? 



Seeing them enter sad and disconcerted, 

To quit those cheering fanes with looks of gladness, — 

How often have my thoughts to ours reverted! 
How oft have I exclaim' d, in tones of sadness, 

Why are they shut? 



110 WHY ARE THEY SHUT? 

For who within a Parish Church can stroll, 
Wrapt in its week-day stillness and vacation, 

Nor feel that in the very air his soul 

Receives a sweet and hallowing lustration? 

Why are they shut; 



The vacant pews, blank aisles, and empty choir. 
All in a deep sepulchi-al silence slu-ouded. 

An awe more solemn and intense inspire, 

Than when with Sabbath congregations crowded. 

\Miy are they shut? 



The echoes of oui- footsteps, as we tread 
On hollow graves, are spiritual voices; 

And holding mental converse with the dead, 
In holy reveries our soul rejoices. 

WTiy are they shut: 



WHY ARE THEY SHUT? Ill 

If there be one — one only — who might share 

This sanctifying week-day adoration, 
Were but our churches open to his prayer, 

Why — I demand with earnest iteration — 

Why are they shut? 



112 THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR. 



THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR. 

They warned me by all that a£Fection could ui-ge, 
To repel his advances, and fly from his sight, 

They call'd him a fiend, a destroyer, a scom-ge, 

.^d whisper" d his name with a shudder of fright.— 

They said that disease went as herald before^ 
\Miile sorrow and severance followed his track, 

They besought me if ever I came to his door. 
Not a moment to pause, but tuni instantly back. 

" His breath," they exclaim'd, " is a pestilence foul, 
" His aspect more hateful than language can tell, 

" His touch is pollution, — no Gorgon or Ghoul 

" In appearance and deeds is more loathsome and fell," 



THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR. 113 

Such stern prohibitions, descriptions so dire, 

By which the most dauntless might well be dismay" d, 

In me only waken' d a deeper desire 

To gaze on the monster so darkly portray' d. 

I sought him — I saw him — he stood by a marsh, 
Wliere henbane and hemlock with poppies entwined; 

He was pale, he was grave, but no featui-e was harsh, 
His eye was serene, his expression was kind. 

" This stigmatized being," I cried in surprise, 

'' Wears a face most benignant; but looks are not facts, 

" Physiognomy often abuses our eyes ; 

" I'll foUow his footsteps and judge by his acts." 

There came from a cottage a cry of alarm, 
An infant was writhing in agonies sore, 

His hand rock'd the cradle, its touch was a charm, 
The babe fell asleep, and its anguish was o'er. 

VOL. I. 1 



114 THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR. 

He reach'd a proud mansion where, worn by the woe 
Of consumption, a Beauty lay wither'd, in bed, - 

Her pulse he compress'd with his finger, and lo! 

The complaint of long years in a moment had fled ! 

He paused where he heard the disconsolate groan 
Of a widow with manifold miseries crushed; 

Where a pauper was left in his sickness to gi'oan, 
Both were heal'd at his sight, and their sorrows were 
hush'd. 

He sped where a king, sorely smitten with age. 
In vain sought relief from the pangs he endured ; 

" I come," said the stranger, " your woes to assuage ;" 
He spoke, and the monarch was instantly cured. 

Astounded by deeds which appear'd to bespeak 
In the fiend a benevolent friend of mankind, 

From himself I resolved a solution to seek 

Of the strange contradictions that puzzled my mind. 



THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR. 115 

"Chase, mystical being," I cried, "this suspense; 

" How comes it thou'rt blacken'd by every tongue, 
"When in truth thou'rt the champion, the hope, the defence 

" Of the king and the beggar, the old and the young?*" 

" Thou hast witness'd'" — he answer'd — (his voice and his 
face 

Were aU that is musical, bland, and benign), 
" Not a tithe of the blessings I shed on the race 

" Wlio my form and my attributes daily malign. 

*' All distinctions of fortime, of birth, of degree, 
" Disappear where my levelling banner I wave ; 

" From his desolate dmigeon the captive I free ; 
" His fetters I loose from the suffering slave. 

" And when from their stormy probation on earth, 

" The just and the righteous in peace I dismiss, 

" I give them a new and more glorious birth 

In regions of pm'c and perennial bliss." 
1 2 



116 THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR. 

"Let me bless thee," I cried, "for thy mission of love, 
" Oh say to M^hat name shall I fashion my breath?" 

" The Angel of Life is my title above, 

" But short-sighted mortals have christen'd me 
Death!" 



DIRGE FOR A LIVING POET. 117 



DIRGE FOR A LIVING POET * 

What I shall the mind of bard — historian — sage, 

Be prostrate laid upon oblivion's bier, 
Shall darkness quench the beacon of our age, 
"Without the meed of one melodious tear?" 

Will none, with genius like his own. 

Mourn the fine intellect o'erthrown, 
That died in giving life to deathless heirs? 

Are worthier voices mute? then I 

The Muse's humblest votary, 
Will pour my wailful dirge and sympathising prayers 

* Written during the last illness of Southey. 



118 DIRGE FOR A LIVING POET. 

Well may I mourn that mental sun's eclipse, 

For in his study have I sate enshi'ined, 
And reverently listen' d while his lips 
Master'd the master-spirits of mankind, 

As his expanding msdom took 

New range from his considted book.-— 
Oh, to what noble thovights didst thou give birth. 

Thou poet-sage, whose life and mind 

In mutual perfectness combined 
The spirit's loftiest flight, with pm-est moral worth ! 

Behold the withering change ! amid the rays 
That form a halo round those volumed wits, 

Amid his own imperishable lays 
In silent, blank fatuity he sits! 

Seeking a respite from his cm-se. 
His body, now his spirit's hearse. 

Still hamits that book-charm'd room, for there alone 
Thought-gleams illume his wand'ring eyes. 
As lightnings flicker o'er the skies 

Where the departed sun in cloudless glory shone. 



DIRGE FOR A LIVING POET. 119 

Oh withering, woful change — oh li\ing death! 

Lo ! where he strays at fancy's aimless beck, 
On his dementate brow the titled ^\Teath, 
A mournful mockery of reason's wreck. — 
Roaming by Derwent's silent shore 
Or dark-hued Greta's rushing roar, 
A human statue ! His unconscious stare 
Knows not the once familiar spot. 
Knows not the partner of his lot, 
Who, as she guides him, sobs a broken-hearted prayer. 

Oh flood and fell, lake, moorland, valley, hill! 

Mouni the dark bard who sang your praise of yore. 
Oh Rydal-Falls, Lodore, and Dungeon Gill ! 

Dowai the rock's cheek your tearful gushes pour. — 

Ye crag-envelop'd Tarns that sleep 

In your hush'd craters, wake and weep. — 
Ye mountains! hide youi- son-owing heads in cloud; 

As sobbing winds around ye moan ; 

Helvellyn ! Skiddaw ! wail and groan. 
And clothe your giant forms in vapour's mourning shroud. 



120 DIRGE FOR A LIVING POET. 

Why make appeal to these? Ye good and M-ise 

^Mio worshipp'd at his intellectual shrine, 
Ye kindred natm-es, who can sjTnpathise 
With genius "reft of reason's light divine, 

Ye whom his learning, virtue, lays, 

Taught, guided, charm' d in other days. 
Let all youi' coimtless voices be combined, 

As on your knees, ye pour on high 

This choral supplicating cry — 
Restore, restore, O God ! om- poet's wand' ring mind ! 



Campbell's funeral. 121 



CAMPBELL'S FUNERAL.^- 

Tis well to see these accidental great, 

Noble by bii*th, or Fortune's favour blind, 
Gracing themselves in adding grace and state 
To the more noble eminence of mind, 
And doing homage to a bard 
Whose breast by Nature's gems was starr'd, 
Whose patent by the hand of God himself was sign'd. 

While monarchs sleep, forgotten, unrevered, 
Time trims the lamp of intellectual fame, 

The builders of the pyramids, who rear'd 

Mountains of stone, left none to tell their name. 

* He was buried in Poets' Corner, Westminster Abbey, his pall 
being supported by six noblemen. 



122 Campbell's funeral. 

Though Homer's tomb was never known, 
A mausoleum of his own. 
Long as the world endures his greatness shall proclaim. 

What lauding sepulchre does Campbell want? 

"Tis his to give, and not derive renown. 
What monumental bronze or adamant, 

Like his owai deathless lays can hand him down r 
Poets outlast their tombs : the bust 
And statue soon revert to dust; 
The dust they represent still wears the laurel crown. 

The solid Abbey walls that seem time-proof, 

Form'd to await the final day of doom; 
The clustered shafts and arch-supported roof, 

That now enslmne and guard our Campbell's tomb. 
Become a ruin'd shattered fane. 
May fall and bury him again. 
Yet still the bard shall live, his fame-WTcath still shall 
bloom. 



Campbell's funeiial. 123 

Methought the monumental effigies 

Of elder poets that were grouped around, 
Lean'd from their pedestals with eager eyes, 
To peer into the excavated ground 

Where lay the gifted, good, and brave. 
While earth from Kosciusko's grave 
Fell on his coffin-plate with freedom-shrieking sound.* 

And over liim the kindi-ed dust was strew' d 

Of Poets' Comer. O misnomer strange ! 
The poet's confine is the amplitude 
Of the whole earth's illimitable range, 

O'er which his spirit wings its ffight, 
Shedding an intellectual light, 
A sun that never sets, a moon that knows no change. 

Around his grave in radiant brotherhood, 
As if to form a halo o'er his head, 

* *' And Freedom shriek'd as Kosciusko fell."— Campbell. 



124 Campbell's funeral. 

Not few of England's master spirits stood, 
Bards, artists, sages, reverently led 

To wave each separating plea 

Of sect, clime, part^% and degree. 
All honoui'ing him on whom Natm-e all honoui's shed. 

To me the hmnblest of the moiu'ning band, 

Who knew the bard through many a changeftd year. 
It was a proud sad pri\dlege to stand 
Beside his grave and shed a parting tear. 
Seven lustres had he been my friend. 
Be that my plea when I suspend 
This all-imworthy -wTeath on such a poet's bier. 



THE LIFE AND DEATH. 125 



THE LIFE AND DEATH. 

The Life. 

Hath Momus descended, — the god of Mirth,— 
To glad the world with his triumphs thus? 

Or is it a mortal, who tastes on earth 
An apotheosis rapturous! 

While his worshippers hail him with choral cries. 

And Laughter's reverberant ecstasies! 

He moves like a mental sun, whose light 

Scatters around an electric ray, 
Which every eye that beholds, is bright. 

And every bosom that feels, is gay, — ■ 
A sun, (it is own'd by a nation's lips,) 
That hath ne'er been dimm'd, — never known eclipse ! 



126 THE LIFE AND DEATH. 

As this Spirit sits on liis tlu-oiie elate, 

They tender him homage from every sj)here: 

From the rich, the noble, the wise, the gi-eat, — 
Nay, even the King is a courtier here; 

And, vassal-like, makes his cro^\Ti submit 

To the majesty of sceptred Wit. — 

They press him with flattering words and wiles 
To honour and grace theii' lordly halls, 

And impart by his mirth, and songs, and smiles, 
A glory and zest to theii* festivals. 

For they know that liis presence can banish gloom, 

And give light and life to the banquet-room. 

On what aching hearts hath he gladness pom-"d! 

In scenes imnimiber'd, what countless throngs, 
From the public stage to the festive board, 

Have em-aptured hung on his mii-thftil songS! 
At his wit's incessantly flashing light, 
What shouts have startled the ear of night! 



THE LIFE AND DEATH. 127 

Ask you the name of the gifted man, 

Whose genius thus could enchant the world; 

Whose fame through both the hemispheres ran, — 
Whose flag of triumph was never furl'd? — 

You ask it not, for you know that none 

But Mathews alone has such trophies won! 



The Death. 



Hark to the toll of the passing bell, 

Which "swinging slow with solemn roar," 

Carries the dismal fimeral knell 

O'er the thi-illing waves of the Plymouth shore; 

And is borne afar by the shuddering breeze, 

From Wembury's cliffs to Mount-Edgecumbe's trees. 



128 THE LIFE AND DEATH, 

Natm-e appears to have thi'OAYii a pall 
Over tliat landscape so rich and fair, 

For a withering gloom and sadness fall 
Alike upon ocean, earth, and air. 

And the darkling heights in the distance show 

Like spectral moumers, grim with woe. 

The bittern's wail and the sea-mew's cry. 
Seem to share the deep and Mdde distress. 

As their wings they spread, and seaward fly 
Away from that scene of WTctchedness : 

And the booming moan of the distant surge 

Falls on the ear like a doleftd dirge. 

Hark! 'tis a female cry — 'tis the sound 
Of a widow's heart with anguish torn; 

A groan succeeds, and the sob profound 
Of a sireless son, aghast, forlorn! 

And oh! how loving and loved they were, 

Their own 'reft hearts can alone declare. 



THE LIFE AND DEATH. 129 

Behold! from St. Andrew's Church appears 

A funeral train in its sad array, 
Whose mourners, blind with their stanchless tears. 

With faltering footsteps feel their way 
To the bones and mould thrown up in a heap 
Beside a sepulchre dark and deep. — 

The coffin is sunk, the prayer is pom-'d — 

"Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust." 
They sprinkle earth on the rattling board, 

And they whose heads o'er the grave are thrust, 
Draw back at the sound with a shuddering start. 
For its awful echoes thrill their heart. 

As if it were sent to reveal and bless, 
A ray tln-ough the Im-id vapour beams, — 

Pierces the sepulclii-e's ghastliness. 

And lo! on the coffin's plate it gleams. 

Th' inscription now may be plainly read — 

''Charles Mathews'' — that's the name of the dead. 

VOL. 1. K 



130 THE LIFE AND DEATH. 

God! can it be? — is that breath resign' d 

Which render'd the brightest joy more bright? 

Does that life of life, and mind of mind, 
The circle's soul, and the world's delight, 

Lie stretch' d in the coffin's silence, dark. 

Cold — ^lifeless — ghastly — stiff and stark? 

\\niiat proofs of his friendship, wit, and worth, 
On memory crowd, and recall past years! 

But I cannot give their record bii*th. 

For my heart and my eyes are both in tears : 

Let me drop the pen, — ^let me quit the lay, 

And rush from my own sad thoughts away. — 



hope's yearnings. 131 



HOPE'S YEARNINGS. 



How sweet it is, when wearied with the jars 

Of wrangling sects, each sour'cl with bigot leaven, 

To let the Spirit burst its prison bars 

And soar into the deep repose of Heaven! 



How sweet it is, when sick with strife and noise 
Of the fell brood that owes to faction birth. 

To tm-n to Natui-e's tranquillizing joys, 

And taste the soothing harmonies of Earth! 

But tho' the lovely Earth, and Sea, and Air, 

Be rich in joys that form a sumless sum, 

FiU'd with Nepenthes that can banish care, 

And wrap the senses in Elysium, 
K 2 



132 hope's yearnings. 

"Tis sweeter still from these delights to tiu'ii 

Back to oui- kind — to watch the course of Man, 

And for that blessed consummation yearn, 

When Nature shall complete her noble plan ; — 

When hate, oppression, vice, and crime, shall cease, 
When War's ensanguined bamier shall be furl'd. 

And to om' moral system shall extend 
The perfectness of the material world. — 

Sweetest of all, when 'tis om- happy fate 

To di-op some tribute, trifling tho' it prove, 

On the tlu'ice-hallow'd altar dedicate 

To Man's improvement, truth, and social love. 

Faith in our race's destined elevation. 
And its incessant progress to the goal. 

Tends, by exciting hope and emulation, 
To reaHse th' aspirings of the soul. 



TO A LOG or WOOD UPON THE FIRE. 133 



TO A LOG OF WOOD UPON THE FIRE. 

When Horace, as the snows descended 
On Mount Soracte, recommended 

That logs be doubled, 
Until a blazmg fire arose, 
I wonder whether thoughts like those 
Which in my noddle interpose, 

His fancy troubled. 

Poor Log! I cannot hear thee sigh, 
And groan, and hiss, and see thee die, 

To warm a Poet, 
Without evincing thy success, 
And as thou wanest less and less. 
Inditing a farewell address 

To let thee know it. 



134 TO A LOG or WOOD TJPOX THE FIRE. 

Peeping from earth — a bud imveird. 
Some "bosky boui-ne " or dingle hail'd 

Thy natal houi* ; 
\Miile infant Avinds around thee blew, 
And thou wert fed with silver dew, 
And tender sun-beams oozing thi'ough 

Thy leafy bower. 

Earth — water — air — thy groT\1:h prepared; 
And if perchance some robin, scared 

From neighbourmg manor, 
Pereh'd on thy crest, it rock"d in air. 
Making his ruddy feathers flare 
In the sun's ray, as if they were 

A fairy banner. 

Or if some nightingale impressed 
Against thy branching tojD her breast 
Hea\'ing with passion. 



TO A LOG OF WOOD UPOIST THE FIRE. 135 

And in the leafy nights of June, 
Outpour' d her sorrows to the moon, 
Thy trembling stem thou didst attune 
To each vibration. 

Thou grew'st a goodly tree, with shoots 
Fanning the sky, and earth-bound roots 

So grappled under. 
That thou whom perching birds could swing. 
And zephyrs rock with lightest wing. 
From thy firm trunk unmoved didst fling- 
Tempest and thmider. 

Thine offspring leaves — death's annual prey. 
Which Herod Winter tore away 

From thy caressing, 
In heaps, like graves, around thee blown, 
Each morn thy dewy tears have strown, 
O'er each thy branching hands been thrown, 

As if in blessing. 



136 TO A LOG OF WOOD UPON THE FIRE. 

Bui-sting to life, another race 

At touch of Spring in thy embrace, 

Sported and flutter'd; 
Aloft, where wanton breezes play'd. 
In thy knit boughs have ringdoves made 
Their nest, and lovers in thy shade 

Their vows have utter'd. 

How oft thy lofty simimits won 
Morn's \Ti'gin smile, and haiVd the sun 

With rustling motion; 
How oft in silent depths of night, 
When the moon sail'd in cloudless light. 
Thou hast stood awe-struck at the sight 

In hush'd devotion — 



"Twere vain to ask; for doom'd to fall. 
The day appointed for us all 
O'er thee impended; 



TO A LOG OF WOOD UPON THE FIRE, 137 

The hatchet, with remorseless blow, 
First laid thee in the forest low, 
Then cut thee into logs — and so 
Thy course was ended. — 

But not thine use — for moral rules. 
Worth all the wisdom of the schools, 

Thou may'st bequeath me; 
Bidding me cherish those who live 
Above me, and the more I tluive, 
A wider shade and shelter give 

To those beneath me. 

So when death lays his axe on me, 
I may resign, as calm as thee. 

My hold terrestrial ; . 
Like thine my latter end be found, 
Diffusing light and warmth aromid, 
And like thy smoke my spirit bound 

To realms celestial. 



138 UNPOSSESSED POSSESSIONS. 



UNPOSSESSED POSSESSIONS. 



Whose are Windsor and Hampton, the pride of the land. 
With their treasures and trophies so varied and grand? 

The Queen's, you reply: — 

Deuce a bit! you and I 
Through their gates, twice a week, making privileged way, 

Tread their gilded saloons. 

View their portraits, cartoons. 
And, like Crusoe, are monarchs of all we survey. — 



UNPOSSESSED POSSESSIONS. 139 

And whose are our Nobles' magnificent homes, 

With their galleries, gardens, their statues and domes? 

His Grace's? my Lord's? 

Ay, in law and in words, 
But in fact they are om-s, for the master, poor wight I 

Gladly lea\ing their view 

To the \isiting crew, 
Keeps a dear exhibition for others' delight. — 



And whose are the stag-haunted parks, the domains, 
The woods and the waters, the hiUs and the plains? 

Yom^s and mine, for our eyes 

Daily make them our prize: 
Wliat more have their owners? — The care and the cost! 

Alas ! for the great. 

Whose treasures and state. 
Unprized when possessed, are regretted when lost. — 



140 UNPOSSESSED POSSESSIONS. 

"\Mien I float on the Thames, or am wliisk'd o"er the roads, 
To the numerous royal and noble abodes 

Whose delights I may share, 

Without 0A\Tiership*s care. 
With what pity the titled and rich I regard, 

And exultingly cry, 

Oh! how happy am I 
To be only a poor impatrician bard! 



TO THE FURZE BUSH. 



141 



TO THE FURZE BUSH. 

Let Burns and old Chaucer miite 

The praise of the Daisy to sing, — 
Let Wordsworth of Celandine wi'ite. 

And crown her the Queen of the Spring 
The Hyacinth's classical fame 

Let Milton embalm in his verse ; 
Be mine the glad task to proclaim 

The Charms of mitrumpeted Fm-ze! 



142 TO THE FUKZE BUSH. 

Of all other bloom when bereft, 

And Sol wears his M'intery screen, 
Thy siinshining blossoms are left 

To light up the common and green. 
O why shoidd they emy the peer 

His perftmie of spices and mp-rhs, 
\Mien the poorest theii' senses may cheer 

With incense diffused from the Fui'zer 



It is bristled with thorns, I confess; 

But so is the much-flatter' d Rose : 
Is the Sweetbriar lauded the less 

Because amid prickles it grows ? 
"Twere to cut off an epigram's point, 

Or disfurnish a knight of his spui's. 
If we foolishly msh'd to disjoint 

Its arms ft-om the lance-bearing Fui'ze. 



TO THE FURZE BUSH. 143 

Ye dabblers in mines, who would clutch 

The wealth which theii* bowels enfold; 
See ! Nature, with Midas-like touch, 

Here turns a whole common to gold ; 
No niggard is she to the poor, 

But distributes whatever is hers. 
And the wayfaring beggar is sure 

Of a tribute of gold from the Furze. 



Ye worldlings ! learn hence to di\dde 

Youi' wealth mth the children of want. 
Nor scorn, in your fortune and pride. 

To be taught by the commonest plant. 
If the wisest new wisdom may draw 

From things humble, as reason avers. 
We too may receive Heaven's law. 

And beneficence learn from the Furze! 



144 THE FmST OF MARCH. 



THE FIRST OF MARCH. 

The bud is in the bough, and the leaf is in the bud, 
And Earth 's beginning now in her veins to feel the blood, 
Wliich, warm'd by summer smis in th' alembic of the \me, 
From her founts mil overrim in a ruddy gush of wine. 

The perfume and the bloom that shall decorate the flower, 
Ai-e quickening in the gloom of theii' subterranean bower ; 
And the juices meant to feed trees, vegetables, fruits, 
Unerringly proceed to their pre-appointed roots. 

How awful is the thought of the wonders undergromid, 
Of the mystic changes wrought in the silent, dark profoimd; 
How each thing upward tends by necessity decreed, 
And a world's support depends on the shooting of a seed ! 



THE FIRST OF MARCH. 145 

The summer 's in her ark, and this simny-pinion"cl day 
Is commission'd to remark whether Winter holds her sway ; 
Go back, thou dove of peace, with the myrtle on thy wing, 
Say, that floods and tempests cease and the world is ripe 
for spring. 

Thou hast fann'd the sleeping Earth till her di-eams are all 

of flowers, 
And the waters look in mirth for their overhanging 

bowers ; 
The forest seems to listen for the rustle of its leaves. 
And the very skies to glisten in the hope of summer eves. 

Thy \'i^dfying spell has been felt beneath the wave. 
By the dormouse in its cell, and the mole Avithin its cave : 
And the summer tribes that creep, or in air expand their 

wing, 
Have started from their sleep at the simmions of the 

Spring. — 

VOL. I. li 



146 THE FIKST OF MARCH. 

The cattle lift theii- voices from the valleys and the hills, 
And the feather' d race rejoices with a gush of tuneful bills, 
And if this cloudless arch fills the poet's song with glee, 
O thou sunny first of March! be it dedicate to thee. 



INVOCATION TO THE CUCKOO. 14, 



INVOCATION TO THE CUCKOO. 

O, PURSUIVANT and herald of the spring! 

Whether thou still dost dwell 

In some rose-laurel" d dell 
Of that charm' d island, whose magician king 

Bade all its rocks and caves, 

Woods, winds, and waves, 
Thi'ill to the dulcet chaunt of Ariel, 

Until he broke the spell. 
And cast his wand into the shuddering sea,-* 

O hither, hither fleet, 

Upon the south wind sweet. 

And soothe us with thy vernal melody! 
L 2 



148 INVOCATION TO THE CUCKOO. 

Or whether to the redolent Azores, 

Amid whose tufted sheaves 

The floral goddess weaves 
Her garland, breathing on the glades and shores 

Intoxicating air, 

Truant! thou dost repair; 
Or lingerest still in that meridian nest, 

"WTiere mjTiad piping tlu'oats 

Rival the warbler's notes, 
The saffron namesakes of those islands blest, — 

hither, liither wing 
Thy flight, and to oiu* longing woodlands sing. 

Or in those sea-girt gardens dost thou dwell, 

Of plantain, cocoa, palm, 

And that red tree, mIiosc balm 
Fumed in the holocausts of Israel; 

Beneath banana shades, 

Guava, and fig-tree glades, 



INVOCATION TO THE CUCKOO. 149 

Painting thy plumage in the sapphirine hue 

ThrowTi fi-om the heron blue, 
Or rays of the prismatic parroquet, — 

O, let the perfumed breeze 

From those Hesperides 
Waft thee once more om- eager ears to greet ! 

For lo ! the yomig leaves flutter in the south. 

As if they tried theii' ^dngs, 

Wliile the bee's trumpet brings 
News of each bud that pouts its honied mouth ; 

Blue-beUs, yellow-cups, jonquils, 

Lilies wild and dafibdils, 
Gladden our meads in intertangled wTcath; 

The sun enamom-'d lies, 

Watching the violets' eyes 
On every bank, and di'inks theii' luscious breath ; 

With open lips the thorn 

Proclaims that May is born. 
And darest thou, bird of spring, that summons scorn : 



loO INVOCATION TO THE CUCKOO. 

•'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'" O welcome, welcome notes! 

Fields, woods, and waves rejoice 

In that recovered voice. 
As on the wind its fluty music floats. 

At that elixii' strain 

My youth resumes its reign. 
And life's first spring comes blossoming again : 

Oh, wond'rous bird ! if thus 

Thy voice miraculous 
Can renovate my spirits' vernal prime, 

Nor thou, my Muse, forbear 

That Gcstacy to share, — 
I laugh at Fortune, and defy old Time. 



151 



MAN. 

[Versified from an Apologue by Dr. Sheridan.] 

Afflictio?? one day, as she hark'd to the roar 
Of the stormy and struggling billow, 

Drew a beautiful form on the sands of the shore, 
With the branch of a weeping- willow. 

Jupiter, struck mth the noble plan, 

As he roam'd on the verge of the ocean, 

Breathed on the figure, and calling it Man, 
Endued it with life and motion. 

A creature so glorious in mind and in frame. 
So stamp'd with each parent's impression. 

Amongst them a point of contention became, 
Each claiming the right of possession. 



152 MAN. 

He is mine, said Affliction; I gave liim his birth, 

I alone am his cause of creation; — 
The materials were furnish' d by me, answered Earth ; — 

I gave him, said Jove, animation. 

The gods, all assembled in solemn divan, 
After hearing each claimant's petition. 

Pronounced a definitive verdict on Man, 
And thus settled his fate's disposition: 

" Let Affliction possess her o^^ivti child, till the woes 

Of life cease to harass and goad it; 
After death give his body to Earth, whence it rose, 

And his spirit to Jove who bestow' d it." 



SPOKTING WITHOUT A LICENCE. 153 



SPORTING WITHOUT A LICENCE. 

There 's a charm when Spring is young, 

And comes laughing on the breeze, 
When each leaflet has a tongue, 

That is lisping in the trees. 
When morn is fair, and the sunny air 

With chime of beaks is ringing, 
Tln-ough fields to rove with her we love. 

And listen to their singing. 

The sportsman finds a zest, 

^Vllich all others can outvie. 
With his lightning to arrest 

Pheasants whirring through the sky; 



154 SPORTING WITHOUT A LICENCE. 

With dog and gun, from dawTi of sun 
Till pui'ple evening hovers, 

O'er field and fen, and hill and glen. 
The happiest of rovers. 

The hunter loves to dash 

Through the horn-resounding woods, 
Or plunge with fearless splash 

Into intercepting floods; 
O'er gap and gate he leaps elate. 

The vaulting stag to follow. 
And at the death has scarcely breath 

To give the whoop and hallo ! 

By the river's margin dank, 

With the reeds and rushes mix'd, 

Like a statue on a bank. 
See the patient angler fix'd! 

A summer's day he whiles away 
Without fatigue or soitow, 



SPOUTING WITHOUT A LICENCE. 155 

And if the fish should baulk his wish, 
He comes again to-morrow. 

In air let pheasants range, 

'Tis to me a glorious sight, 
Which no fii-e of mine shall change 

Into grovelling blood and night; 
I am no hoimd, to pant and bound 

Behind a stag that 's fl^nng ; 
Nor can I hook a trout from brook. 

On grass to watch its dying. 

And yet no sportsman keen 

Can a sweeter pastime ply, 
Or enjoy the i-ural scene 

With more ecstacy than I : 
There's not a view, a form, a hue, 

In earth, or air, or ocean. 
That does not fiU. my heart, and thi'ill 

My bosom with emotion. 



loG SPORTING WITHOUT A LICENCE. 

O clouds that paint the aii-! 

O fountams, fields, and groves! 
Lights, sounds, and odoiu'S rare, 

\Miich my yearning spirit loves! 
^ATiile thus I feel, and only steal 

From visions so enchanting. 
In tuneful lays to sing youi* praise, 

What charm of life is wanting? 



THE QUARREL OF FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 157 



THE QUARREL OF FAITH, HOPE, AND 
CHARITY. 

Once Faith, Hope, and Charity traversed the land, 

In sisterhood's uninterrupted embraces. 
Performing their office of love hand in hand, 

Of the Christian world the appropriate Graces. 

But tiffs since those primitive days have occurr'd, 
That threaten to sever this friendly relation, 

As may well be surmised when I state, word for word, 
The terms of their latest and worst altercation: 

"Sister Charity, prythee allow me to state," 

Cries Faith, in a tone of contemptuous sneering, 

"That while you affect to be meek and sedate, 
"Your conduct is cimning, your tone domineering. 



158 THE QUARREL OF FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 

"In the times that are gone, my world-harassing name, 
"Received some accession of strength ev'ry hour; 

"St. Bartholomew's Massacre hallow 'd my fame, 
"And Sicily's Vespers asserted my power. 

"When martyrs in multitudes rush'd at my call. 

"To peril their lives for Theology's sake, 
"Mine too was the voice that cried, 'Sacrifice all. 

" ' With gaol and with gibbet, with faggot and stake.' 

"When the banner of orthodox slaughter was furl'd, 
"And subjects no more from each other dissented. 

"I set them at war with the rest of the world, 
"And for centuries national struggles fomented. 

" What are all the great heroes on history's page, 
" But puppets who figured as I pidled the strings r 

" Crusades I engender' d in every age, 

" And Faith was the leader of armies and kings. 



THE QUAKREL OF FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 159 

" In those days of my glory Hope followed my track, 

" In warfare a firm and impartial ally, 
" For she constantly patted both sides on the back, 

" And promised them both a reward in the sky.*' 

Here Charity, heaving disconsolate sighs. 

That said "I admit what I deeply deplore," 

Uplifted to heaven her tear-sufiused eyes, 

Wliich seem'd but to anger her sister the more. 

" Nay, none of your cant, hypocritical minx!"" 
She cried in a louder and bitterer tone, 

" If you feel any fancy to whimper, methinks 

" You might weep that the days of my glory are gone. 

*' What wi'eck of my palmy puissance is left? 

" What bravos and bullies my greatness declarer 
" Of the holy and dear Inquisition bereft, 

" All my fierce fulminations are impotent air. 



160 THE QUARREL OF FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 

" No racks and no pincers — no limbs piecemeal torn, 
" No screams of the tortured my prowess display ; 

" And to crown all these slights, I am shamefully shorn 
" Of my o^Ml proper triumph, an auto da fe^ 

" The Pope, w^ho could once, in my terrible name, 
" Spread warfare and havoc all Chi'istendom round, 

" Is simk to such pitiful dotage and shame, 

" That the Vatican thunder "s a ridiculed sound. 

*' Nay, even in England, my latest strong-hold, 
" x\nd the firmest support of my paramount sway, 

*' (In Gath or in Askelon be it not told,) 

" All my orthodox bulwarks are crmnbling away. 

*' Dissenters, untested, may now, nothing loth, 
" As municipal officers feast and carouse: 

" And emancipate Catholics, taking the oath, 
" O horror of horrors! may sit in the House. 



THE QUAKREL OF FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 161 

•' If Erin no longer my altar-flame fann'd, 

" By ceasing to murder for tithe now and then, 

" It might well be surmised that my paralysed hand 
'' Had 'lost all control o'er the actions of men. 

" And what though each orthodox candidate swears 
" To my Thirty-nine Articles — 'tis but a jest, 

•' Since a bishop (proh pudorlj, a bishop, declares 
" That such oaths are a form, — never meant as a test. 

" And who is the cause that I'm laid on the shelf, 
" Disown'd and deserted by all but a few? 

" My downfall and ruin I trace to yourself, 
'' To you, I repeat, sister Charity — ^ouf 

'^ Your looks and your whining expressions of ruth, 
" Your appeals — ever urged with insidious wiles, 

" To reason and justice — to love and to truth, 
" Your tears of deceit, and yom* plausible smiles, 

VOL. I. M 



162 THE QUARREL OF FAITH, HOPE. AND CHARITY. 

" Have inveigled the bulk of my subjects away, 
" And have swell'd youi- own ranks with deserters 
from mine: 

" Such conduct is base, and from this very day, 

'" Hope and I mean to leave you and take a new line.'" 

With the look of an angel, the voice of a dove. 
Thus Charity answer'd — " Since Concord alone 

" Can prosper our partnership mission of love, 
" And exalt the attraction that calls her her own, 

" I would not, dear sisters, e'en harbour a thought, 
" That might peril a friendship so truly diA^ine ; 

" And if in our feelings a change has been wrought, 
" I humbly submit that the faidt is not mine. 

" Christianity's attributes, holy and high, 

'• When first, sister Faith, you delighted to teach, 

" And Hope only wafted your words to the sky, 
" I seconded gladly the labours of each: 



THE QUARREL OF FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 163 

But when, in crusades! you began to affect 
'' A thousand disguises and masquerades new, 
When you di-ess'd yoiu'self up in the badges of sect, 
" Nay, even of Mussulman, Pagan, and Jcav, 

And when in each garb, as yourself have just said, 
" You scatter' d a fii-ebrand wherever you went, 
While Hope spent her breath, as she foUow'd or led, 
" In fanning the flames of religious dissent, 

I raised up my voice in a solemn appeal 

" Against your whole course of unchristian life, 

Tho' its accents were drown" d in the clashing of steel, 
" In the clamour of councils, and schismatic strife; 

But now when men, turning from dogmas to deeds, 

" Bear the scriptural dictum of Jesus in mind, 

That salvation depends not on canons and creeds, 

" But on love of the Lord, and the love of our kind, 
M 2 



164 THE QUARREL OF FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 

" My voice can be heard, and my arguments weigh"d: 
" "\\Tiich explains wliy such nimierous converts of late 

" Are under my love-breathing standard array' d, 
" Who once, beneath yours, were excited to hate. 

" Superstition must throw off Religion's disguise ; 

" For men, now enlighten'd, not darkling like owls, 
" While they reverence priests who are holy and wise, 

" Will no longer be hoodwink'd by cassocks or cowls. 

" If, Sisters! forgetting your primitive troth, 

"' You would still part the world into tyrants and slaves, 

" WTiat wonder that sages should look on you both 
" As the vii'tues of dupes, for the profit of knaves ? 

" You would separate? Do so — I give you full scope; 

" But reflect, you are both of you naught when we part ; 
" \\niile I, 'tis well known, can supply Faith and Hope. 

•" When I choose for my temple an innocent heart." 



WINTER. 165 



WINTER. 

The mill-wheers frozen in the stream, 

The church is deck'cl with holly, 
Misletoe hangs from the kitchen beam, 

To fright away melancholy; 
Icicles clink in the milkmaid's pail, 

Younkers skate on the pool below, 
Blackbirds perch on the garden rail. 

And hark, how the cold winds blow! 

There goes the squire to shoot at snipe, 

Here runs Dick to fetch a log; 
You'd swear his breath was the smoke of a pipe. 

In the frosty morning fog. — 
Hodge is breaking the ice for the kine. 

Old and young cough as they go, 
The round red sun forgets to shine, 

And hark, how the cold winds blow! 



166 THE CHOLERA MORBUS. 



THE CHOLERA MORBUS. 

[On hearing it said that this disease only attacked the poor.] 

It comes I it comes! from England's trembling tongue 
One low and miiversal mnrmm' stealeth; — 

By dawn of day, each jom-nal is o'erhung 

With startling eyes, to read what it revealeth, 

And all aghast, ejaculate one word — 

The Cholera — no other soimd is heard! 

Had Death upon his ghastly horse reveal* d. 

From his thi'oat-rattling trump a summons sounded. 

Not more appallingly its blast had peal'd 

Upon the nation's ear; — awe-struck, astomided. 

Men strive in vain their secret fears to smother, 

And gaze in blank dismay on one another. 



THE CHOLERA MORBUS. 167 

Now are all cares absorb' d in that of health; 

Hush'd is the song, the dance, the voice of gladness, 
While thousands in the selfishness of wealth, 

With looks of confidence, but hearts of sadness. 
Dream they can purchase safety for their lives 
By nostrums, drugs, and quack preventatives. 

The wretch who might have died in squalid want, 
Unseen, immourn'd by our hard-hearted blindness. 

Wringing from fear what pity \vould not grant, 
Becomes the sudden object of our kindness,'' 

Now that his betters he may implicate. 

And spread infection to the rich and great. 

Yet still will wealth presumptuously cry, 

'' What though the hand of death be thus outsti*etched ? 
It will not reach the lordly and the high. 

But only strike the lowly and the ^\Tetched. 
Tush! what have we to quail at? Let us fold 
Our arms, and trust to luxury and gold." 



168 THE CHOLERA MORBUS. 

They do belie thee, honest Pestilence! 

Thou'rt brave, magnanimous, not mean and dastard; 
Thou 'It not assert thy dread omnipotence 

In mastering those already overmaster' d 
By want and woe, — ^trampling the trampled crowds 
To spare the unsparing, and preserve the proud. 

Usurpers of the people's rights! prepare 

For death by quick atonement. — Stony-hearted 

Oppressors of the poor! — in time beware! 
When \he destroying angel" s shaft is darted. 

Twill smite the star on titled bosoms set, 

The mitre pierce, transfix the coronet. 

Take moral physic. Pomp! not drugs and oil. 
And learn, to broad philanthi'opy a stranger, 

That every son of poverty and toil. 

With whom thou sharest now an equal danger. 

Should as a brother share, in happier hours, 

The blessings which our common Father showers. 



THE CHOLERA MORBUS. 169 

O thou reforming Cholera! thou'rt sent 

Not as a scourge alone, but as a teacher — 

That they who shall sui-vive to mark the event 

Of thy dread summons, thou death-dealing preacher! 

By piety and love of kind may best 

Requite the love that snatch' d them from the Pest. 



170 THE RECANTATION, 



THE RECANTATION. 

Young, saucy, shallow in my 'sdews. 
The world before me — free to choose 

My caUing or profession, 
I canvass'd, one by one, the list, 
And thus, a tjTO satirist, 

Condemn' d them in succession: 

The Law? — its sons cause half our ills. 
By plucking clients in their bills. 

As sparrowhawks do sparrows; 
Shrinking the mind it whets, their trade 
Acts as the grindstone on the blade. 

Which, while it sharpens, narrows. 



THE RECANTATION. 171 

What makes the Pleader twist and tear 
Statutes to wrong the rightful heir, 

And bring the widow sorrow? 
A feel — ^Vhat makes him change his tack, 
Eat his own words, and swear white's black? — 

Another fee to-morrow. — 

A Cui'ate? — chain' d to some dull spot, 
Even at chm'ch he mourns his lot, 

Repining while thanksgiving. 
'Mid stupid clodpoles and their wives. 
The Scholar's buried while he lives, 

And dies without a living. — 

x\nd what are Bishops? — ^hypocrites 
Who preach against the world's delights 

In purple and fine linen; 
^Vho brand as crime, in humbler elves. 
All vanities, while they themselves 

Have palaces to sin in. — 



172 THE RECANTATION, 

A Soldier? — AMiat! a bravo paid 
To make nian-butcliery a trade — 

A Jack-a-dandy vai'let, 
WTio sells his liberty, — perchance 
His very soid's inlieritance — 

For feathers, lace, and scarlet! 

A Sailor? — worse! he 's doomed to ti*ace 
With treadmill dinidgery the space 

From foremast to the mizen; 
A slave to the tyrannic main, 
Till some kind bnllet comes to brain 

The brainless in his prison. — 

Physic? — a freak of times and modes. 
Which yearly old mistakes explodes 

For new ones still absm'der : 
All slay theii' victims — disappear. 
And only leave this doctrine clear, 

That ''killing is no murder.*" 



THE RECANTATION. iTo 

A Poet? — To describe aright 
His lofty hopes and abject plight, 

The quickest tongue would lack words I 
Still like a ropemaker, he twines 
From morn to even lines on lines, 

And still keeps going backwards. 



Older and wiser grown, ray strain 
Was changed, and thus did I arraign 

My crude and cynic sallies: 
Railer! — like most satiric scribes, 
Your world-condemning diatribes, 

Smack less of truth than malice.- 

Abuse condemns not use — all good 
Perverted or misimderstood, 

May generate all badness. 
Reason itself — that gift divine, 
To folly may be tm-n'd by wine, 

By long excess to madness. 



174 THE RECANTATION. 

From the professions thus portray' d, 
As prone to stain, coiTupt, degrade. 

Have sprung, for many ages, 
All that the world with pride regards. 
Our statesmen, patriots, heroes, bards, 

Philanthropists and sages. 

Not from om* callings do we take 
Our characters: — men's actions make 

Or mar their reputations. 
The good, the bad, the false, the true. 
Would still be such, tho" all their crew 



Shoidd interchange vocations. 



Whate'er the compass-box's hue, 
Substance, or form — the needle's true, 

Alike in calms or surges: 
E'en thus the virtuous heart, whate'er 
Its Dealer's plight or calling — ne'er 

From honour's pole diverges. 



175 



DEATH. 

Fate ! fortune ! chance ! whose blindness, 

Hostility or kindness, 
Play such strange freaks with human destinies. 

Contrasting poor and wealthy, 

The life-diseased and healthy, 
The bless'd, the curs'd, the witless, and the wise, 

Ye have a master — one 

If 
Who mars what ye have done, 

Levelling all that move beneath the sun, — ■ 

Death ! 

Take courage ye that languish 
Beneath the withering anguish 



176 DEATH. 

Of open wrong, or tyrannous deceit, 

There comes a swift redresser. 

To punish your oppressor. 
And lay him prostrate — helpless at your feet. 

O champion strong! 

Righter of ^vrong. 
Justice — equality to thee belong, — 
Death ! 



Where conquest cro^^'ns his quarrel, 
And the victor, wreath' d with laurel, 

\Miile trembling nations bow beneath his rod. 
On his guarded tlirone reposes, 
In living apotheosis, ^ 

The Lord's anointed, and earth' s demigod, 
What form of fear 
Croaks in his ear, 

*' The victor's car is but a funeral bier." — 
Death ! 



DEATH. 177 

Who — spite of guards and yeomen, 

Steel phalanx and cross-bowmen, 
Leaps at a bound the shudd'ring castle's moat, 

The tjTant's crown do^\^l dashes, 

His brandish' d sceptre smashes, 
With rattling fingers grasps him by the tlii-oat. 

His breath out-WTings, 

And his corpse dowai flings 
To the dark pit where grave-worms feed on kings r — 
Death ! 

When the murderer 's undetected. 

When the robber 's unsuspected, 
And night has veil'd his crime from every eye; 

When nothing li\dng daunts him. 

And no fear of justice haunts him, 
Who wakes his conscience-stricken agony? 

Who makes him start 

With liis withering dart, 
And wTings the secret from his bursting heart? — 
Death ! 

VOL. I. N 



178 



To those who pine in sorrow, 

Whose wretchedness can borrow 
No moment's ease from any human act, 

To the widow comfort-spurning, 

To the slave for freedom yearning, 
To the diseased with cureless anguish rack'd. 

Who brings release 

And whispers peace, 
And points to realms where pain and sorrow cease ?- 
Death ! 



THE POET AMONG THE TREES. l79v 



THE POET AMONG THE TREES. 

Oak is the noblest tree that grows, 

Its leaves are Freedom's tj^je and herald, 

If we may put our faith in those 
Of Literary-Fund Fitzgerald. 

Willow 's a sentimental wood, 

And many sonneteers, to quicken "em, 

A relic keep of that which stood 

Before Pope's Tusculum at Twickenham. 

The Birch- tree, with its pendent curves, 

Exciting many a sad reflection, 

Not only present praise deserves, 

But our posterior recollection, 
N 2 



180 THE POET AMONG THE TREES. 

The Banyan, though unknown to us, 

Is sacred to the Eastern Magi; 
Some like the taste of Titp-us, 

"Recubans sub tegmine fagi." 

Some like the Juniper — in gin; 

Some fancy that its ben'ies droop, as 
Knowing a poison lurks within. 

More rank than that distill' d from th' Upas. 

But he who wants a useful word, 
To tag a line or point a moral. 

Will find there \s none to be preferr'd 
To that inspiring tree — the Laurel. 

The hero-butchers of the sword. 

In Rome and Greece, and many a far land, 
Like Bravos, murder'd for reward, 

The settled price — a laurel-garland. 



THE POET AMONG THE TEEES. 181 

On bust or coin we mark the wreath, 

Forgetful of its bloody story. 
How many myriads writhed in death, 

That one might bear this type of glory. 

Ceesar first wore the badge, 'tis said, 

'Cause his bald sconce had nothing on it, 

Knocking some millions on the head. 
To get his own a leafy bonnet. 

Luckily for the Laurel's name, 

Profaned to purposes so frightful, 
'Twas worn by nobler heii'S of fame, 

All innocent, and some delightful. 

With its green leaves were victors crown' d 

In the Olympic games for running. 
Who wrestled best, or gallop' d round 

The Circus with most speed and cunning. 



182 THE POET AMONG THE TEEES. 

Apollo, crown'd with Bays, gives laws 

To the Parnassian Empyrean; 
And every schoolboy knows the cause, 

Who ever dipp'd in Tooke's Pantheon. 

Daphne, like many another fair, 
To whom connubial ties are horrid, 

Fled from his arms, but left a rare 
Memento sprouting on his forehead. 

For Bays did ancient bards compete. 
Gather" d on Pindus or Parnassus, 

They by the leaf were paid, not sheet. 
And that 's the reason they surpass us. 

One \\Teath thus twines the heads about, 

"WTiose brains have brighten' d all our sconces, 

And those who others' brains knock' d out, 
"Cause they themselves were royal dunces. 



THE POET AMONG THE TREES. 183 

Men fight in these degenerate days, 
For crowns of gold, not laurel fillets; 

And bards who borrow fire from bays, 
Must have them in the grate for billets. 

Laureats we have (for cash and sack) 

Of all calibres and diameters, 
But 'stead of poetry, alack! 

They give us lachrymose Hexameters. 

And that illustrious leaf for which 

Folks wrote and wrestled, sang and blustcr'd, 
Is now boil'd down to give a rich 

And dainty flavour to our custard! 



184 TO THE LADIES OF ENGLAND. 



TO THE LADIES OF ENGLAND. 

Beauties! — (for, dress'd with so much taste. 
All may with such a term be graced,) — 

Attend the friendly stanza, 
^Miich deprecates the thi-eaten'd change 
Of English modes for fashions strange, 

And French extravaganza. ^ 

"What! when her sons renown have won 
Li arts and arms, and proudly shone 

A pattern to the nations. 
Shall England's recreant daughters kneel 
At Gallic shrines, and stoop to steal 

Fantastic innovations ? 



TO THE LADIES OF ENGLAND. 185 

Domestic — simple — chaste — sedate, — 
Yom- fashions now assimilate 

Your virtues and your duties: — 
With all the dignity of Rome, 
The Grecian Graces find a home 

In England's classic Beauties. 

When we behold so fit a shrine, 
We deem its inmate all divine, 

And thoughts licentious bridle; 
But if the case be tasteless, rude. 
Grotesque, and glaring — we conclude 

It holds some worthless idol. 

Let Gallia's nymphs of ardent mind, 
To every wild extreme inclined, 

In folly be consistent; 
Their failings let their modes express, 
From simpleness of soul and dress, 

For ever equi-distant. 



186 TO THE LADIES OF ENGLAND. 

True to your staid and even port,' 
Let mad extremes of every sort 

With steady scorn be treated; 
Nor by art's modish follies mar 
The sweetest, loveliest work by far 

That nature has completed: — 

For oh ! if in the world's wide round 
One peerless object may be found, 

A something more than human; 
The faultless paragon confess'd 
May in one line be all express'd, — 

A well-dress'd English Woman. 



^^IGHT-SONG. 187 



NIGHT-SONG. 

Written at Sea. 

'Tis night — ^niy Bark is on the Ocean, 

No sound I hear, no sight I see, 
Not e"en the darken'd waves whose motion 

Still bears me, Fanny, far from thee! 
But from the misty skies are gleaming 

Two smiling stars that look, my love! 
As if thine eyes, though veil'd, were beaming 

Benignly on me from above. 

Good night and bless thee, Fanny dearest! 

Nor let the sound disturb thy sleep, 
If, when the midnight wind thou hearest, 

Thy thoughts are on the distant deep:— 



i8 XIGIIT-SOXG. 

Thy Lover there is safe and fearless, 

For Heaven still guards and guides my track. 

Nor can my dreaming heart be cheerless. 
For still to thee 'tis wafted back. 

'Tis sweet on the benighted billow, 

To trust in Him whom all adore ; 
'Tis sweet to think that from her pillow 

Her prayers for me shall Fanny pour. 
The winds, self-lullabied, are dozing, 

The winking stars withdraw their light. 
Fanny! methinks thine eyes are closing — 

Bless thee, my love! good night, good night! 



THE SONG-YISIOJf. 189 



THE SONG-YISIOX. 

Oh, warble not that fearful air ! 

For sweet and sprightly though it be, 
It wakes in me a deej) despair 

By its unhallow'd gaiety. 

It was the last my Fanny sung, 
The last enchanting playful strain, 

That breathed from that melodious tongue, 
Which none shall ever hear again. 

From Memory's fount what pleasures past 
At that one vocal summons flow; 

Bliss which I vainly thought would last — 
Bliss which but deepens present woe! 



190 THE SONG-VISION. 

Where art thou, Fanny! can the tomb 

Have chill'd that heart so fond and warm,- 

Have tm-n'd to dust that cheek of bloom — 
Those eyes of light — that angel form? 

Ah no! the grave resigns its prey: 
See, see ! my Faimy 's sitting there ; 

AVhile on the harp her fingers play 
A prelude to my favourite air. 

There is the smile which ever bless' d 
The gaze of mine enamour'd eye — 

The lips that I so oft have press' d 
In tribute for that melody. 



She moves them now to sing ! — hark, hark ! 

But ah ! no voice delights mine ears : 
And now she fades in shadows dark; — 

Or am I blinded by my tears? 



THE SONG-VISION, 191 

Stay yet awhile, my Fanny, stay, 

Nor from these outstretch'd arms depart ; — 

'Tis gone ! the vision 's snatch' d away ! 
I feel it by my breaking heart. 

Lady, forgive this burst of pain, 

That seeks a sad and short relief, 
In coining from a ' wilder' d brain 

A solace for impassion' d grief. 

But sing no more that fearfid air, 
For sweet and sprightly though it be, 

It wakes in me a deep despair, 
By its unhallow'd gaiety. 



192 THE poet's winter song. 



THE POET'S WINTER SONG TO HIS WIFE. 

The birds that sang so sweet iii the summer skies are 

fled, 
And we trample "neath our feet leaves that flutter'd o'er 

our head ; 
The verdant fields of June wear a winding-sheet of white, 
The stream has lost its tune, and the glancing waves their 

light. 

We too, my faithful wife, feel oui* winter coming on. 
And oui' di'eams of early life like the summer birds are 

gone ; 
My head is silver'd o'er, while thine eyes their fire hav»^ 

lost, 
And thy voice, so sweet of yore, is enchain'd by age's 

frost. 



THE poet's winter SONG. 193 

But the founts that live and shoot through the bosom 

of the earth, 
Still prepare each seed and root to give future flowers 

their birth; 
And we, my dearest Jane, spite of age's wintry blight. 
In our bosoms mil retain Spring's florescence and delight. 

The seeds of love and lore that we planted in our youth, 
Shall develop more and more theii' attractiveness and 

truth ; 
The springs beneath shall run, though the snows be on 

our head. 
For Love's declining sun shall with Friendship's rays 

be fed. 

Thus as happy as when young shall we both grow old, 

my wife. 
On one bough united hung of the fruitful Tree of Life ; 
May we never disengage through each change of wind 

and weather, 
Till in ripeness of old age we both di'op to earth together ! 

VOL. I. o 



194 SONG TO FANNY. 



SONG TO FANNY. 

Nature! thy fair and smiling face 
Has now a double power to bless, 

For 'tis the glass in which I trace 
My absent Fanny's loveliness. 

Her heav'nly eyes above me shine. 
The rose reflects her modest blush, 

She breathes in every eglantine, 
She sings in every warbling thrush. 

That her dear form alone I see 
Need not excite surprise in any. 

For Fanny 's all the world to me. 
And all the world to me is Fanny. 



SONG TO FANNY. 195 



SONG TO FANNY. 

Thy bloom is soft, thine eyes are bright. 

And rose-buds are thy lips, my Fanny, 
Thy glossy hair is rich with light. 

Thy form unparagon'd by any; 
But thine is not the brief array 

Of charms which time is sure to borrow, 
Which accident may blight to-day, 

Or sickness undermine to-morrow. 

No — thine is that immortal grace 

Which ne'er shall pass from thy possession, 
That moral beauty of the face 

Which constitutes its sweet expression; 
o 2 



196 SONG TO FANNY. 

This shall preserve thee what thou art, 
When age thy blooming tints has shaded. 

For while thy looks reflect thy heart, 
How can their charms be ever faded? 

Nor, Fanny, can a love like mine 

With time decay, in sickness falter; 
'Tis like thy beauty — half divine, 

Born of the soul, and cannot alter : 
For when the body's mortal doom 

Our earthly pilgrimage shall sever, 
Our spirits shall their loves resume. 

United in the skies for ever. 



THE BIKTHDAY OF SPRING. 197 



THE BIRTHDAY OF SPRING. 

Cry Holiday! Holiday! let us be gay, 

And share in the rapture of heaven and earth ; 

For see ! what a sunshiny joy they display, 

To welcome the Spring on the day of her birth; 

While the elements, gladly outpouring their voice, 

Natme's Paean proclaim, and in chorus rejoice! 

Loud carols each riU as it leaps in its bed ; 

The wind brings us music and balm from the south, 
And Earth in delight caUs on Echo to spread 

The tidings of joy with her many-tongued mouth ; 
O'er sea and o'er shore, over mountain and plain, 
Far, far does she trumpet the jubilee strain. 



198 THE BIRTHDAY OF SPRING. 

Hark! hark to the cuckoo! its magical call 
Awakens the flowerets that slept in the dells; 

The snow-drop, the primrose, the hyacinth, all 
Attune at this summons their silvery bells. 

Hush! ting-a-ring-ting! don't you hear how they sing ! 

They are pealing a fairy-like welcome to Spring. 

The love-thrilling hedge-birds are wild with delight; 

Like arrows loud whistling the swallows flit by; 
The rapturous lark, as he soars out of sight, 

Sends us sim-lighted melody down from the sky. 
In the air that they quaff", all the feathery throng 
Taste the spirit of Spring that out-bursts in a song. 

To me do the same vernal whisperings breathe 
In all that I scent, that I hear, that I meet. 

Without and within me, above and beneath. 

Every sense is imbued with a prophecy sweet 

Of the pomp and the pleasantness Earth shall assume 

When adom'd, like a bride, in her flowery bloom. 



THE BIRTHDAY OF SPRING. 199 

In this transport of nature each feeling takes part; 

I am thrilling with gratitude, reverence, joy; 
A new spring of youth seems to gush from my heart, 

And the man 's metamorphosed again to a boy. 
Oh! let me run wild, as in earlier years; 
If my joy be suppress'd, I shall burst into tears. 



200 AN OLD man's aspiration. 



AN OLD MAN'S ASPIRATION. 

O GLORIOUS Sun ! whose car sublime 

Unerring since the birth of time, 
In glad magnificence hath rmi its race; — 

O day's delight God-painted sky, 

O moon and stars, whose galaxy 
Illuminates the night thro' all the realms of space. 

O poetry of forms and hues, 

Resplendent Earth ! whose varied views 
In such harmonious beauty are combined; — 

And thou, O palpitating Sea, 

Who boldest this fair mystery 
In the wide circle of thy thrilling arms enshrined,- 



AN OLD man's aspiration. 201 

Hear me, Oh hear while I impart 

The deep conviction of my heart, 
That such a theatre august and grand, 

Whose author, actors, awftd play, 

Are God, mankind, a judgment day, 
Was for some higher aim, some holier purpose plann'd. 

I will not, nay I cannot, deem 

This fair Creation's moral scheme. 
That seems so crude, mysterious, misappHed, 

Meant to conclude as it began. 

Unworthy the material plan 
With whose perfections rare its failures are alHed. 

As in our individual fate, 

Om- manhood and matui-er date, 
Correct the faults and follies of our youth. 

So will the world, I fondly hope, 

With added years give fuller scope 
To the display and love of wisdom, justice, truth. 



202 AN OLD man's aspiration. 

'Tis this that makes my feelings glow, 

My bosom thrill, my tears o'erflow, 
At any deed magnanimous — sublime; 

'Tis this that re-assures my soul, 

When nations shim the forward goal, 
And retrograde awhile in ignorance and crime. 

Mine is no hopeless dream of some 

Impeccable Millennium, 
\\Tien saints and angels shall inhabit earth; 

But a conviction deep, intense. 

That man was meant by Pro^ddence 
Progressively to reach a higher moral worth. 

On this dear faith's sustaining truth 
Hath my soul brooded from its youth, 

As heaven's best gift, and earth's most cheering dower. 
Oh! may I still, in life's decline. 
Hold unimpair'd this creed benign, 

And mine old age attest its meliorating power! 



GIPSIES. 203 



GIPSIES. 

Whether from India's bui'iiing plains, 
Or wild Bohemia's domains, 

Your steps were first directed; 
Or whether ye be Egypt's sons, 
Whose stream, like Nile's, for ever runs 

With sources undetected: 

Arabs of Europe! Gipsy race! 

Youi' Eastern manners, garb, and face 

Appear a strange chimera; 
None, none but you can now be styled 
Romantic, picturesque, and wild, 

In this prosaic era. 



204 GIPSIES. 

Ye sole freebooters of the wood, 
Since Adam Bell and Robin Hood: 

Kept everywhere asunder 
From other tribes, — King, Church, and State 
Spurning, and only dedicate 

To freedom, sloth, and plimder; 

Your forest-camp, — the forms one sees 
Banditti-like amid the trees, 

The ragged donkeys grazing, 
The Sybil's eye prophetic, bright 
With flashes of the fitful light 

Beneath the caldron blazing, — 

0"er my young mind strange ten-ors thi'ew: 
Thy History gave me, Moore Carew! 

A more exalted notion 
Of Gipsy life ; nor can I yet 
Gaze on your tents, and quite forget 

My foimer deep emotion. 



GIPSIES. 205 

For "auld lang syne" I'll not maltreat 
Yon pseudo-tinker, though the cheat, 

As sly as thievish Reynard, 
Instead of mending kettles, prowls, 
To make foul havoc of my fowls, 

And decimate my hen-yard. 

Come thou, too, black-eyed lass, and try 
That potent skill in palmistry. 

Which sixpences can wheedle; 
Mine is a friendly cottage — here 
No snarling mastiff need you fear. 

No Constable or Beadle. 

'Tis yours, I know, to draw at will 
Upon futurity a bill, 

And Plutus to importune; — 
Discount the bill — ^take half yourself, 
Give me the balance of the pelf, 

And both may laugh at fortune. 



206 JLIFE. 



LIFE. 

There are who think this scene of life 
A frightful gladiatorial strife, 

A struggle for existence, 
Where class contends with class, and each 
Must plunder all within his reach, 

To earn his own subsistence. 

Shock' d at the internecine air 
Of this Arena, they forswear 

Its passions and its (quarrels; 
They will not sacrifice, to live, 
All that to life ifs charms can give. 

Nor sell for bread their morals. 



LIFE. 207 



Enthusiasts! check your reveries, 
Ye cannot always pluck at ease 

From Pleasure's cornucopia; 
Ye cannot alter Nature's plan, 
Change to a perfect being Man, 

Nor England to Utopia. 

Plunge in the busy current— stem 
The tide of errors ye condemn, 

And fill life's active uses; 
Begin reform yourselves, and live 
To prove that Honesty may thrive 

Unaided by abuses. 



208 TO A LADY 



TO A LADY. 

[On giving the writer a little bronze Cupid from Pompeii.] 

Thanks for thy little God of Love, 
Dug from Pompeii — whose fate 'tis, 

Henceforth to be install' d above 
My household Lares and Penates. 

Oh! could its lips of bronze unclose, 
How sad a tale might they recall! 

How thrill us with th' appalling woes 
Of the doomed City's burial! 

Perchance, on that benighted day 

This tiny imp the table graced 
Of one whose mansion might display 

The choicest stores of classic taste. 



TO A LADY. 209 

Of some one whose eonvmal board 
With all embellishments was deck'd, 

"While her rich cabinets outpour' d 
A constant feast of Intellect. — 

Of one who, tho' she ne'er declined 

In social chat to bear a part, 
Loved more to fill her house and mind 

With letter'd loi'e, and varied art. — 

Of one who thus could give delight 

To guests of every mental hue, 
Whether imlearn'd or erudite, — 

Of one, in short, resembling Yon! 

To the dark tomb, thou Pagan Sprite! 

For many centuries consigned. 
Thrice welcome to this world of light. 

Where worshippers thou still wilt fincL — 

VOL. I. F 



210 TO A LADY. 

Methinks thy new abode is one 
Thou wilt not, Cupid! disapprove, 

For all my married life has run 

A lengthen' d course of constant love. — 

Prompt me, thou type of higher hopef 
To spread that love from me and mine, 

Until, in its ascending scope, 
It soar to social and divine. — 

So, little Elf ! shalt thou be eyed 
With double favour by thine owner, 

Both as a tutelary guide. 

And a memorial of thy donor. — 



THE CHARMS OF LIFE. 211 



THE CHARMS OF LIFE. 

What hath life to charm us? Flowers 
Whose sweet lips have ever sung- 
Carols jfrom the fields and bowers, 
In perfume's universal tongue. 
Choral fairies bright and meriy! 
Hark! I heai- your silver bells, 
Chiming from the tufted dells 
A May-day welcome — hey down derry! 

Hark again! those jocmid calls 

Are Echo's voice, who loves to mock 

The laughter of the waterfalls 

That leap for joy from rock to rock. 
p2 



212 THE CHARMS OF LIFE. 

And now the winds their organ ply, 
Tuned to the music of the birds, 
And rustling leaves and lowing herds, 

Oh! what a thrilling harmony! 

Joys there are of wider scope, — 

Oui" social and domestic ties, ' 

Faith, love, charity, and hope, 

With all theii' mingled ecstacies. 
And mental bliss that never cloys. 

But charms the head and thrills the heai't; J 

Life ! how grand a boon thou art ! i 

Life ! how sumless are thy joys ! i 



A HINT TO CYNICS. 213 



A HINT TO CYNICS. 

Youth, beauty, love, delight, 

All blessings bright and dear, 

Like shooting stars by night. 
Flash, faU, and disappear. 

Let Cynics doubt their worth. 
Because they're bom to die, 

The wiser sons of earth 

Will snatch them ere they fly. 

Tho' mingled with alloy. 

We throw not gold away; 

Then why reject the joy 

That's blended with decay .^ 



214 MUSIC. 



MUSIC. 

Peace to the tenants of the tomb 

\Miom oft we met in hall and bower. 
Peace to the buried friends with whom 

We shared the charm of music's hour; 
Tho' dead, they are not mute, for still 

Does memory wake some favour'd strain 
That makes our yearning bosoms thrill 

As if they lived and sang again. 

Health to the friends we still possess; 

Oh! long and often may we meet, 
Our yet remaining years to bless 

With Music's pleasures pure and sweet; 
And praises to the power divine 

That gave to man the precious boon, 
^Vhich makes life's social evening shine 

As brightly as its morn and noon. 



THE bard's inscription. 215 



THE BARDS INSCRIPTION IN HIS DAUGHTER'S 
ALBUM. 

The thoughtful reader here may see 
A little world's epitome 

In turning each successive folio; — 
Names, drawings, music, poems, prose, 
From kindred and from friends compose 

This Album's multifarious olio. 

Its owner, from her circle wide 

Of friends, may here survey with pride 

A cherish'd tributary Cento; 
And when they're absent, — alter'd — dead- 
Each contribution will be read 

With double zest as a memento. 



216 THE bard's inscription-. 

Here with a smile will she recall 
The walk, the concert, or the ball, 

Shared with the young and merry-hearted; — 
And here, perchance, while brooding o'er 
The song of one who sings no more, 

A tear may drop for the departed. 

Yet — daughter dear! my heart foretells 
That thou wilt quit all other spells, 

Of friends, however loved, — and rather 
Hang o'er the page that thus records, 
With feelings ill express' d by words, 

The fervent blessing of a Father ! 



ANTI-CORN-LAW BAZAAR STANZAS. 217 



STANZAS 

Written for the Bazaar of the National Anti-Corn-Law League, 
Covent Garden Theatre, 1845. 



Why with its ring has the connecting sea 

Married the Hemispheres and join'd their hands, 

Why has the Magnet's guiding ministry 

Made paths athwart the deep to distant lands? 

Why are the winds to our controul resign'd, 
Why does resistless steam our wiU obey, 

Why are all arts, all elements, combined 

To speed us o'er the ocean- world's highway? 



218 ANTI-CORN-LAW BAZAAR STANZAS. 

That from wide earth, and from the watery waste, 
Creation's sacred flag may be unfru-l'd, 

Whereon the finger of the Lord hath traced 

Creation's law " Fkee Trade with all the 

World !" 

Thus Nature, — her materaal hands untied. 

Shall scatter fresh supplies of wealth and food, 

And from each varied soil and clime provide 

Some separate blessing for the common good. 

So shall the sever' d races of mankind. 

Bidding all barriers and restrictions cease, 

By constant intercourse become combined 
In one vast family of love and peace. 

Let no man part whom God would thus unite ! 

They who would speed this high and holy aim, 
Leagued in the cause of universal right. 

All factious ends, all pai'ty views disclaim. 



ANTI-CORN-LAW BAZAAR STANZAS. 219 

Their weapons, Faith, and Charity, and Hope, 

Justice and Truth the champions of their cause, 

Firmly but peacefully they seek to cope 

With selfish interests and mistaken laws. 

Ye who love man's advancement, — peace, — free trade, 
Ye who would blessings win from every land, 

Oh! give the liberating League youi' aid. 

And speed its course with zealous heart and hand! 



220 A HINT TO THE FARMERS. 



A HINT TO THE FARMERS. 

Farmers, whose income, day by day, 
Slides on the Sliding Scale away, 

Whatever its direction; 
When favour'd most still most forlorn, 
Starved by monopoly of Corn, 

And ruin'd by protection; — 

Farmers! who dying, seldom see 
One penny left for Charon's fee. 

When o'er the Styx ye're ferried, 
But in yom* landlord's pocket trace 
(Like Mecca to the Tm-ks) the place 

Wherein your 'profit 's buried — 



A HINT TO THE FAEMEKS. 221 

Farmers! who find in Cobden's breath, 
And Bright's harangues, a menaced death 

For all of yeoman station, 
And most appropriately brand 
The Corn-law Leaguers as a band 

Prone to ass — ass — ination: — 

When landlords cry, " We must be fed, 
" Go — grind your bones to make om* bread, 

" From Earth more harvests ravish ; 
" Study Liebig, ye clodpole elves ! 
" Buy Guano — Soda — stint yourselves, 

"That we may still be lavish:" — 

Farmers! ye ought to patronise 
Whate'er improvements may arise 

To lessen your expenses. 
So hear my tale — there's little in't, 
'Tis merely meant to give a hint 

For making cheap field fences. 



222 A HINT TO THE FARMERS. 

Queen Bess — I mean Elizabeth, 
Favour' d, as the historian saith, 

The handsome Earl of Leicester, 
To whom she made large grants of land, 
For which he doubtless kiss'd her hand, 

And duly thank'd and bless'd her. 

These lands were commons, on whose turf 
Many a cottager and serf 

Had fed his goose or donkey; 
And being dispossess' d, the crowd 
Began to mm^mur in a loud, 

I needn't add a ivrong key. 

What cared his lordship ! down he came. 
With carpenters to fence the same, 

And shut out cloM'ns and cattle; 
Riding each morn the men to watch, 
So that no moment they might snatch 

For drink or tittle-tattle. 



A HINT TO THE FARMERS. 223 

One day, a peasant by his side 
Bow'd his grey -head and humbly cried, 

" I ax your lordship's pardon, 
"I've got a notion in my nob, 
"Whereby this here expensive job 

"Need hardly cost a farden." 

"Not cost a farthing, doting clown!" 
Exclaim' d his lordship with a frown, 

Half angry and half comic ; — 
" Braggart most vain and over free, 
" Think' st thou that I can learn from thee 

"A plan more economic?" 

" Yes," quoth the rustic — " yes, my lord, 
"You needn't buy another board, 

" Or oaken plank or paling, 
"Think not my words are brags and boasts, 
" For if your lordship finds the posts, 

"The public will find railing T 



224 DISAPPOINTMENT. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Joy! joy! my lover's bark retui-ns, 
I know her by her bearing brave: 

How gallantly the foam she spmns, 
And bomids in triumph o'er the wave! 

Why dost thou veil the glorious sight, 
In lurid rain, thou summer cloud? 

See! see! the lightning flashes bright! 
Hark! to the thunder long and loud! 

The storm is past — the skies are fair, 

But where' s the bark? — there was but owe:^~ 

Ha! she is yonder, shatter' d — bare, — 

She reels — she — sinks — O Heaven! she's gone! 



THE DYING POET's FAREWELL. 225 



THE DYING POET S FAREWELL. 



Animula vagula, blandula, 
Hospes comesque corporis, 
Quae nunc abibis in loca ? 

Adrian. 



THOU wondrous arch of azure, 
Sun, and starry plains immense I 

Glories that astound the gazer, 
By their dread magnificence! 

thou ocean, whose commotion 

Awes the proudest to devotion ! 

Must I — must I from ye fly, 

Bid ye all adieu — and die ? 
VOL. I. a 



226 THE DYING POET S FAREWELL 

ye keen and gusty mountains, 
On whose top I braved the sky! 

O ye music-pouring fountains, 
On whose marge I loved to lie ! 

ye posies, — lilies, roses, 

All the charms that earth discloses! 

Must I — must I from ye fly. 

Bid ye all adieu — and die? 

O ye birds whose matin chorus 
Taught me to rejoice and bless! 

And ye herds, whose voice sonorous 
Swell' d the hynm of thankfulness ! 

Learned leisure, and the pleasure 

Of the Muse, my dearest treasui'e; 

Must I — must I fi-om ye fly, 

Bid ye all adieu — and die ? 

O domestic ties endearing, 

Which still chain my soul to earth I 



THE DYING POET's FAREWELL. 227 

O ye friends, whose converse cheering, 
Wing'd the hours with social mirth! 
Songs of gladness, chasing sadness, 
Wine's delight, without its madness; 
Must I — must I from ye fly, 
Bid ye all adieu — -and die ? 

Yes — I now fulfil the fiction 

Of the swan that sings in death ; — 
Earth, receive my benediction, 

Air, inhale my parting breath; 
Hills and valleys, forest alleys. 
Prompters of my muse's sallies. 
Fields of green and skies of blue, 
Take, oh! take my last adieu. 

Yet perhaps when all is ended. 

And the grave dissolves my frame. 

The elements from which 'twas blended 

May their several parts reclaim; 
q2 



228 THE DYING POET S FAREWELL. 

Waters flowing, breezes blowing. 
Earth, and all upon it growing. 
Still may have my alter' d essence, 
Ever floating in their presence. 

^^^lile my disembodied spirit 

May to fields Elysian soar, 

And some lowest seat inherit 

Near the mighty bards of yore ; 
Never, never to dissever, 
But to dwell in bliss for ever, 
Tmiing an enthusiast lyre 
To that high and laurell'd quire. 



SONNETS. 



Eternal and Omnipotent Unseen! 

Who bad' St the world, with all its lives complete, 
Start from the void and thrill beneath thy feet, 

Thee I adore with reverence serene; 

Here, in the fields, thine own cathedral meet, 

Built by thyself, star-roof 'd, and hung with green, 
\Vherein all breathing things in concord sweet, 
Organ'd by winds, perpetual hjTnns repeat. 

Here hast thou spread that Book to every eye. 

Whose tongue and truth all, all may read and prove, 

On whose three blessed leaves — ^Earth, Ocean, Sky, 
Thine own right hand hath stamp'd might, justice, love ; 

Grand Trinity, which binds in due degree, 

God, man, and brute, in social unity. 



230 SONNETS. 



MORNING. 

Beautiful Earth! O how can I refrain 

From falling down to worship thee? Behold. 
Over the misty mountains springs amain 

The glorious Sun; his flaming locks unfold 
Their gorgeous clusters, pouring o'er the plain 

Torrents of light. Hark ! Chanticleer has toll'd 
His matin bell, and the lark's choral train 

Warble on high hosannas uncontroll'd. 

All natui'e worships thee, thou new-born day! 
Blade, flower, and leaf, their dewy offerings pay 

Upon the shrine of incense-breathing earth; 
Birds, flocks, and insects, chaunt their morning lay ; 

Let me, too, join in the thanksgi\4ng mirth. 
And praise, through thee, the God that gave thee birth. 



SONNETS. 231 



TO THE SETTING SUN. 

Thou central Eye of God, whose lidless ball 

Is vision all around, dispensing heat. 
And light and life, and regulating all 

With its pervading glance, — how calm and sweet 

Is thine unclouded setting! Thou dost greet, 
With parting smiles, the earth; night's shadows fall, 

But long where thou hast sunk shall splendours meet. 
And, lingering there, thy glories past recall. 

Oh! may my heart, like thee, imspotted, clear, 

Be as a sun to all within its sphere; 

And when beneath the earth I seek my doom, 

May I with smiling calmness disappear, 

And friendship's twilight, hovering o'er my tomb, 
Still bid my memory survive and bloom. 



SONNETS. 



ON THE STATUE OF A PIPING FAUN. 

Hark ! hear'st thou not the pipe of Faunus, sweeping. 

In dulcet glee, through Thessaly's domain? 
Dost thou not see embower' d wood-nymphs peeping 

To watch the graces that around him reign; 
A\Tiile distant vintagers, and peasants reaping, 

Stand in mute transport, listening to the strain; 
And Pan himself, beneath a pine-tree sleeping, 

Looks round, and smiles, and di'ops to sleep again? 

happy Greece! while thy blest sons were rovers 
Through all the loveliness this earth discovers. 

They in their minds a brighter region founded. 
Haunted by gods and sylvans, nymphs and lovers, 
Where forms of grace through sunny landscapes bounded. 
By music and enchantment all surrounded. 



SONNETS. 233 



ON A GREEN-HOUSE. 

Here, from earth's daedal heights and dingles lowly, 

The representatives of Nature meet; 
Not like a Congress, or Alliance Holy 

Of Kings, to rivet chains, but with their sweet 

Blossomy mouths to preach the love complete. 
That with pearl' d misletoe, and beaded holly, 

Clothed them in green unchangeable, to greet 
Winter with smiles, and banish melancholy. 

I envy not th' Emathian madman's fame, 

Who won the world, and built immortal shame 

On tears and blood; but if some flower, new found. 
In its embalming cup might shroud my name, 
Mine were a tomb more worthily renown' d 
Than Cheops' pile, or Artemisia's mound. 



234 



SONNETS. 



ON A STUPENDOUS LEG OF GRANITE, 

Discovered standing by itself in the Deserts of Egypt, with the 
Inscription inserted below. 

In Egj^t's sandy silence, all alone. 

Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws 
The only shadow that the Desert knows. 

" I am great Ozymandias," saith the stone, 
" The King of Kings ; this mighty city shows 

" The wonders of my hand." The city 's gone ! 
Nought but the leg remaining to disclose 

The site of that forgotten Babylon. 

We wonder, and some hunter may express 
Wonder like ours, when through the wilderness 

^Vhere London stood, holding the wolf in chase. 
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess 
What wonderful, but unrecorded, race 
Once dwelt in that annihilated place. 



SONNETS. 235 



WRITTEN IN THE PORCH OF BINSTEAD 
CHURCH, ISLE OF WIGHT. 

Farewell, sweet Binstead! take a fond farewell 
From one unused to sight of woods and seas. 

Amid the strife of cities doom'd to dwell, 
Yet roused to ecstacy by scenes like these, 
Wlio could for ever sit beneath thy trees. 

Inhaling fragrance from the flowery deU ; 
Or, listening to the murmur of the breeze. 

Gaze with delight on Ocean's awful swell. 

Again fareweU! nor deem that I profane 

Thy sacred porch; for while the Sabbath strain 

May fail to turn the sinner from his ways. 
These are impressions none can feel in vain, — 
These are the wonders that perforce must raise 
The soul to God, in reverential praise. 



236 SONNETS. 



THE WORLD. 

Oh, what a palace rare hast thou created, 
Ahnighty Architect, for man's delight ! 

With sun, and moon, and stars illuminated; 

Whose azure dome with pictured clouds is bright, 
Each painted by thy hand, — a glorious sight! 

Whose halls are countless landscapes, variegated, 
All carpeted with flowers; while all invite 

Each sense of man to be with pleasm-e sated. 

Fruits hang around us ; music fills each beak ; 

The fields are perfumed; and to eyes that seek 
For Nature's charms, w^hat tears of joy will start. 

JSo let me thank thee, God, not with the reek 
Of sacrifice, but breathings pour'd apart, 
And the blood-ofiering of a gi-ateful heart. 



SONNETS. 237 



TO A ROSE. 

Thou new-born Rose, emerging from the dew. 

Like Aphrodite, when the lovely bather 
Blush' d from the sea, how fair thou art to view, 

And fragrant to the smell! The Almighty Father 
Implanted thee, that men of every hue. 

Even a momentary joy might gather; 
And shall he save one people, and pursue 

Others to endless agony? O rather 
Let me believe in thee, thou holy Rose, 
Who dost alike thy lips of love unclose, 

Be thy abode by saint or savage trod. 
Thou art the priest whose sermons soothe our woes, 

Preaching, with nature's tongue, from every sod, 

Love to mankind, and confidence in God. 



238 SONNETS. 



ON AN ANCIENT LANCE, HANGING IN AN 
ARMOURY. 

Once in the breezy coppice didst ihou dance, 
And nightingales amid thy foliage sang; 

Form'd by man's cruel art into a lance, 

Oft hast thou pierced, (the while the welkin rang 
With trump and dnmi, shoutings and battle clang,) 

Some foeman's heart. Pride, pomp, and circumstance. 
Have left thee, now, and thou dost silent hang, 

From age to age, in deep and dusty trance. 

What is thy change to om's? These gazing eyes, 
To earth reverting, may again arise 

In dust, to settle on the self-same space ; 
Dust, which some offspring, yet unborn, who tries 

To poise thy weight, may with his hand efface, 

And with his moulder' d eyes again replace. 



SONNETS. 239 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 



Lone warbler ! thy love -melting heart supplies 

The liquid music-faU, that from thy bill 
Gushes in such ecstatic rhapsodies. 

Drowning night's ear. Yet thine is but the skill 
Of loftier love, that hung up in the skies 

Those everlasting lamps, mans guide, imtil 
Morning return, and bade fresh flowers arise, 

Blooming by night, new fragrance to distil. 

Why are these blessings lavish" d from above 
On man, when his unconscious sense and sight 

Are closed in sleep ; but that the few who rove, 
From want or woe, or travels urge by night. 
May still have perfumes, music, flowers, and light 

So kind and watchful is celestial love ! 



240 SONNETS. 



SUNSET. 



'Tis sweet to sit beneath these wahiut trees, 
.ind pore upon the sun in splendour sinking. 

And think upon the wond'rous mysteries 

Of this so lovely world, until, with thinking. 
Thought is bewilder'd, and the spuit, shrinking 

Into itself, no outward object sees, 

Still, from its inward fount, new visions ch-inking. 

Till the sense swims in di-eamy reveries. 

Awaking from this trance, with gentle start, 
"Tis sweeter still to feel th" overflowing heart 

Shoot its glad gushes to the thi*illing cheek ; 
To feel as if the yearning soul would dart 
Upwards to God, and by its flutters speak 
Homage, for which all language is too weak. 

END OF VOL. I. 



COMIC POEMS, 



VOL. II. 



COMIC POEMS, 



THE ENGLISHMAN IN FRANCE. 

A Frenchman seeing, as he walk'd, 
A friend on t'other side the street, 

Cried "Hem!" exactly as there stalk' d 
An Englishman along the road ; 

One of those Johnny Raws we meet 
In every sea-port town abroad, 
Prepared to take and give offence 

Partly, perhaps, because they speak 

About as much of French as Greek, 

And partly from the want of sense. 
B 2 



THE ENGLISHMAN IN FRANCE. 

The Briton thought this exclamation 

Meant some reflection on his nation, 

So bustling to the Frenchman's side, 

" Mounseer Jack Frog," he fiercely cried, 

" Pourquoi vous dire ' Hem ! ' quand moi passe ?" 

Eyeing the querist with his glass, 

The Gaul replied, — " Monsieur God-dem, 

Pourquoi vous passe quand moi dii'e 'Hem?"' — ■ 



THE CULPRIT AND THE JUDGE. 



THE CULPRIT AND THE JUDGE. 

The realm of France possess'd, in days of old, 

A thriving set of literati, 
Or men of letters, turning all to gold: — 

The standard works they made less weighty 
By new abridgments — took abmidant 

Pains their roughnesses to polish, 

And plied their scissors to abolish 
The superficial and redundant. 

And yet, instead of fame and praise. 
Hogsheads of sack, and wreaths of bays, 
The law, in those benighted ages. 
By barbarous edicts did enjoin 



THE CULPRIT AND THE JUDGE. 

That they should cease their occupation. 
Terming these literary sages 

Clippers and filers of the coin ; 
(Oh! what a monstrous profanation!) 
Nay, what was deeper to be dreaded, 
These worthies were, when caught, beheaded! 



But to the point. A story should 

Be like a coin — a head and tail, 
In a few words envelop'd. Good! 

I must not let the likeness fail. — 
A Gascon who had long pursued 

This trade of clipping. 
And filing the similitude 

Of good King Pepin, 
Was caught by the police, who found him 

With file and scissors in his hand 

And ounces of Pactolian sand 
Lying around him. 



THE CULPRIT AND THE .JUDGE. 

The case admitting no denial, 
They hurried him forthwith to trial; 
When the Judge made a long oration, 
About the crime of profanation, 
And gave no respite for repentance. 
But instantly pronounced his sentence, 
" Decapitation !" 

"■' As to offending powers divine," 

The culprit cried, — " be nothing said : 

Yours is a deeper guilt than mine. 
I took a portion from the head 

Of the king's image ; you, oh fearful odds ! 

Strike the whole head at once from God's!' 



SONNET TO MY OWN NOSE. 



SONNET TO MY OWN NOSE. 

O NOSE ! thou rudder in my face's centre, 

Since I must follow thee until I die, — 
Since we are bound together by indenture, 

The master thou, and the apprentice I, 
O be to yom* Telemachus a Mentor, 

Though oft imdsible, for ever nigh; 
Guard him from all disgrace and misadventure, 

From hostile tweak, or Love's blind mastery. 
So shalt thou quit the city's stench and smoke, 
For hawthorn lanes and copses of young oak, 



SONNET TO MY OWN NOSE. 9 

Scenting the gales of heaven that have not yet 
Lost their fresh fragrance, since the morning broke, 
And breath of flowers " with rosy may-dews wet," 
The primrose, cowslip, blue-bell, violet. 



10 THE MILKMAID AND THE BANKEK. 



THE MILKMAID AND THE BANKER. 

A Milkmaid, with a very pretty face, 

Who lived at Acton, 
Had a black Cow, the ugliest in the place, 

A crooked-back'd one, 
A beast as dangerous, too, as she was frightful, 

Vicious and spiteful; 
And so confirm'd a truant, that she bounded 
Over the hedges daily, and got pounded: 
"Twas all in vain to tie her with a tether. 
For then both Cow and cord eloped together. 



THE MILKMAID AND THE BANKER. 11 

Arm"d with an oaken bough — (what folly! 
It should have been of thorn, or prickly holly,) 
Patty one day was driving home the beast, 
Which had, as usual, slipp'd its anchor. 
When on the road she met a certain Banker, 
Who stopp'd to give his eyes a feast, 
By gazing on her features crimson' d high 
By a long Cow-chase in July. 



" Are you from Acton, pretty lass ?" he cried. 

" Yes" — with a curtsey she replied. — 

'' Why, then you know the laundress, Sally Wrench?" — 

" Yes, she's my cousin, Sir, and next-door neighbour." 
" That 's lucky — I 've a message for the wench. 

Which needs dispatch, and you may save my labour. 
Give her this kiss, my dear, and say I sent it: 
But mind, you owe me one — I 've only lent it." — 



12 THE MILKMAID AND THE EANKEE. 

" She shall know," cried the girl, as she brandish' d her 
bough, 

" Of the loving intentions you bore me ; 
But since you're in haste for the kiss, you'll allow, 
That you'd better run forward and give it my Cow, 
For she, at the rate she is scampering now. 

Will reach Acton some minutes before me." 



THE FAKMER S WIFE AND THE GASCON. 13 



THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE GASCON. 

At Neufchatel, in France, where they prepare 

Cheeses that set us longing to be Mites, 
There dwelt a farmer's wife, famed for her rare 

Skill in these small quadi'angular delights. — 
Where tliey were made, they sold for the immense 

Price of three sous a-piece; 
But as salt water made their charms increase, 

In England the fix'd rate was eighteen-pence. 

This damsel had to help her in the farm, 
To milk her cows, and feed her hogs, 

A Gascon peasant, with a sturdy arm 
For digging, or for carrying logs; 



14 THE farmer's wife AND THE GASCON. 

But in his noddle weak as any baby, 

In fact a gaby, 
And such a glutton when you came to feed him, 

That Wantley's dragon, who " ate barns and churches, 
As if they were geese and tui'keys," 

(Vide the Ballad,) scarcely could exceed him. 

One mom she had prepared a monstrous bowl 

Of cream, like nectar, 
And wouldn't go to Church (good careful soul!) 

Till she had left it safe with a protector; 
So she gave strict injunctions to the Gascon 

To watch it while his mistress was to mass gone. — 



Watch it he did — he never took his eyes off, 
But lick'd his upper, then his under lip, 

And doubled up his fist to drive the flies off, 
Begi-udging them the smallest sip, 
Which if they got. 



THE FAKMER's wife AND THE GASCON. 15 

Like my Lord Salisbury, he heaved a sigh, 
And cried, — " O happy, happy fly, 
How I do envy you your lot!" 



Each moment did his appetite grow stronger; 

His bowels yearn d; 
At length he could not bear it any longer, 

But on all sides his looks he turn'd, 
And finding that the coast was clear, he quaff" d 

The whole up at a draught. — 
Scudding ii-om church, the farmer's wife 

Flew to the daiiy; 
But stood aghast, and could not, for her life 

One sentence utter, 
Until she smnmon'd breath enoiigh to mutter, 

"Holy St. Mary!" 
And shortly, with a face of scarlet, 
The vixen (for she 2vas a vixen) flew 

Upon the varlet, 



16 THE farmer's wife AND THE GASCON. 

Asking the when, and where, and how, and who 
Had gulp'd her cream, nor left an atom; 

To which he gave not separate replies, 
But mth a look of excellent digestion, 
One answer made to every question, 
"The FHes!" 



"The flies, you rogue! the flies, you guxzling dog! 

Behold your whiskers still are covered thickly: 
Thief, — ^liar, — ^villain, — gormandizer,^ — hog! 

1 11 make you tell another story quickly." 
So out she bounced, and brought, with loud alarms, 

Two stout GenS'dCarmes, 
Who bore him to the judge, — a little prig, 

With angry bottle nose 

Like a red cabbage rose, 
While lots of white ones flourished on his wig. — 
Looking at once both stern and wise, 

He tui-n'd to the delinquent, 



THE farmer's wife AND THE GASCON. 17 

And 'gan to question him and catechise 

As to which way the drink went: 
Still the same dogged answers rise, 
"The flies, my Lord — the flies, the flies!" 



" Psha!" quoth the judge, half peevish and half pompous, 

" Why, you 're non compos. 
You should have watch'd the bowl as she desired. 

And kill'd the flies, you stupid clown." 
" What, is it lawful then," the dolt enquired, 

" To kiU the flies in this here town ?" — 
" The man 's an ass ! a pretty question this ! 
Lawfid, you booby? to be sure it is. — 
You 've my authority, whene'er you meet 'em 
To kill the rogues, and if you like it, eat 'em." 

" Zooks !" cried the rustic, " I 'm right glad to hear it. 

Constable, catch that thief! may I go hang 
If yonder blue-bottle, (I know his face,) 

Isn't the very leader of the gang 

VOL. II. c 



18 THE FAKMER's wife AND THE GASCON. 

That stole the cream, let me come near it!" 
This said, he started from his place, 

Aiid aiming one of his sledge-hammer blows 

At a large fly upon the Judge's nose, 

The luckless blue-bottle he smash'd, 
And gratified a double grudge, 

For the same catapult completely smash'd 
The bottle-nose belonging to the Judge ! 



THE AUCTIONEEK AND THE LAWYEK. 19 



THE AUCTIONEER AND THE LAWYER. 

A City Auctioneer, one Samuel Stubbs, 
Did greater execution with his hammer, 
Assisted by his puffing clamour, 

Than Gog and Magog with theii* clubs, 

Or that great Fee-fa-fum of War, 

The Scandinavian Thor, 

Did with his mallet, which (see Bryant's 

Mythology,) fell'd stoutest giants; — 

For Samuel knock'd down houses, chui'ches. 

And woods of oak, and elms, and birches. 

With greater ease than mad Orlando 

Tore the first tree he set his hand to. — 

c2 



20 THE AUCTIONEER AND THE LAWYER. 

He ought in reason to have raised his own 
Lot by knocking others' down. 
And had he been content with shaking 
His hammer and his hand, and taking 
Advantage of what brought him grist, he 
Might have been as rich as Christie; — 
But somehow when thy midnight bell, Bow, 

Sounded along Cheapside its knell. 

Our spark was busy in Pall-MaU 
Shaking his elbow ; — 
Marking, with paw upon his mazzard, 
The tm-ns of hazard; 
Or rattling in a box the dice, 

Which seem'd as if a grudge they bore 
To Stubbs: for often in a trice, 
Down on the nail he was compell'd to pay 
All that his hammer brought liim in the day. 

And sometimes more. 



THE AUCTIONEEK AND THE LAWYER. 21 

Thus like a male Penelope, our wight 
What he had done by day undid by night : 
No wonder, therefore, if like her 

He was beset by clamorous brutes, 
Who crowded romid him to prefer 

Their several suits. 



One Mr. Snipps, the tailor, had the longest 

Bill for many suits — of raiment. 
And naturally thought he had the strongest 

Claim for payment. 
But debts of honour must be paid, 
Whate'er becomes of debts of trade; 
And so owe stylish auctioneer, 
From month to month throughout the year, 
Excuses, falsehoods, pleas, alleges; 
Or flatteries, compliments, and pledges, 
When in the latter mood one day. 
He squeezed his hand, and swore to pay. — 



22 THE AUCTIONEER AND THE LAWYER. 

•' But when ?" " Next month, you may depend on't, 
My dearest Snipps, before the end on't; — 
Your face proclaims, in every featm-e. 
You wouldn't harm a fellow creature, — 
You 're a kind soul, I know you are, Snipps.'" — 
" Ay, so you said six months ago ; 
But such fine words, I'd have you know. 

Butter no parsnips." 
This said, he bade his lawyer di'aw 
A special writ. 

Serve it on Stubbs, and follow it 
Up wdth the utmost rigour of the law. 



This lawyer w^as a friend of Stubbs; 

That is to say 

In a civic way, 
Where business interposes not its rubs; 
For w'here the main chance is in question, 
Damon leaves Pythias to the stake, 



THE AUCTIONEER AND THE LAWYER. 23 

Pylades and Orestes break, 
And Alexander cuts Hephaestion; 
But when our man of law must sue his friends, 
Tenfold politeness made amends. 

So when he meets our Auctioneer, 

Into his outstretch' d hand he thrust his 
Writ, and said with friendly leer, 

" My dear, dear Stubbs, pray do me justice ; 
In this affair I hope you see 
No censure can attach to me — 

Don't entertain a wrong impression; 
I"m doing now what must be done 
In my profession." — 

" And so am I," Stubbs answer'd with a frown ; 
So crjing, "Going — going — going — gone!" 

He knock' d him down. 



24 THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER. 



THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER, 

In Broad Street Buildings, on a winter night, 
Snug by his parlour fire a gouty wight 
Sat all alone, with one hand rubbing 

His leg wrapp'd up in fleecy hose, 

While t'other held beneath his nose 
The Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing^ 

He noted all the sales of hops. 

Ships, shops, and slops. 
Gums, galls, and groceries, ginger, gin, 
Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentine, and tin: 



THE GOUTY MEECHANT AND THE STKANGER. 25 

When lo! a decent personage in black 

Enter'd, and most politely said,^ — 
" Your footman, Sir, has gone his nightly track. 

To the King's Head, 
And left your door ajar, which I 
Observed in passing by. 
And thought it neighbouiiy to give you notice.' 

"Ten thousand thanks! how veiy few get. 

In time of danger. 

Such kind attentions from a stranger! 
Assuredly that fellow's throat is 

Doom'd to a final drop at Newgate, 
He knows too, the unconscionable elf! 
That there 's no soul at home except myself." 

" Indeed !" replied the stranger, looking grave ; 
" Then he 's a double knave. 
" He knows that rogues and thieves by scores 
" Nightly beset unguarded doors; 



26 THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER. 

" And see how easily might one 

" Of these domestic foes, 

" Even beneath your very nose, 
" Perform his knavish tricks, 
'' Enter youi- room as I have done, 
" Blow out your candles, — tlmis and thus, 
" Pocket your silver candlesticks, — 

" And walk off— thus T 

So said, so done — he made no more remark; 
Nor waited for replies, 
But march" d off with his prize, 

Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark. 



THE FAT ACTOR AND THE RUSTIC. 27 



THE FAT ACTOR AND THE RUSTIC. 

Cardinal Wolsey was a man 

Of an unbounded stomach, Shakespeare says; 
Meanhig, (m metaphor,) for ever puffing 
To swell beyond his size and span; 

But had he seen a player of our days 
Enacting Falstaff without stuffing, 
He would have own'd that Wolsey' s bidk ideal 

Equall'd not that within the bounds 

This actor's belt surrounds, 
Which is, moreover, all alive and real. — 



28 THE FAT ACTOR AXD THE KUSTIC. 

This player, when the Peace enabled shoals 

Of our odd fishes 
To visit every clime between the poles, 
Swam with the stream, a histrionic Kraken: 

Although his wishes 
Must not in this proceeding be mistaken, 
For he went out professionally bent 
To see how money might be made, not spent. — 

In this most laudable employ 

He found himself at Lille one afternoon; 
And that he might the breeze enjoy, 

And catch a peep at the ascending moon, 
Out of the towai he took a stroll. 
Refreshing in the fields his soul 
With sight of streams, and trees, and snowy fleeces. 
And thoughts of crowded houses and new pieces. — 

When we are pleasantly employ* d, time flies; — 
He counted up his profits, in the skies, 



THE FAT ACTOR AND THE RUSTIC. 29 

Until the moon began to shine, 
On which he gazed awhile, and then, 

Pull'd out his watch, and cried — "Past nine! 
Why, zounds, they shut the gates at ten!" 
Backwards he turn'd his steps instanter. 

Stumping along with might and main, 

And though 'tis plain 
He couldn't gallop, trot, or canter, 
(Those who had seen it would confess it,) he 
March'd well for one of such obesity. 



Eyeing his watch, and now his forehead mopping, 

He puff'd and blew along the road. 

Afraid of melting, more afraid of stopping; 

When in his path he met a clown. 

Returning from the town. — 

" Tell me," he panted in a thawing state, 

" Dost think I can get in, friend, at the gate?" 



30 THE FAT ACTOR AND THE RUSTIC. | 

1 

" Get in?" replied the hesitating loon, j 

! 
Measui'ing with his eye om- bulky wight: . j 

" Why yes, Sii% I should think you might — I 

" A load of hay got in this afternoon!" 



THE BANK CLERK AND THE STABLE-KEEPERS. 31 



THE BANK CLERK AND THE STABLE KEEPERS: 

Showing how Peter was undone 
By taking care of Number One. — 

Of Petek Prim (so Johnson would have written,) 
Let me indulge in the remembrance; — Peter! 

Thy formal phiz has oft my fancy smitten, 
For sure the Bank had never a completer 

Quiz among its thousand clerks, 

Than he who now elicits our remarks. — 



32 THE BANK CLERK AND THE STABLE-KEEPERS. 

Prim was a formalist, a prig, 

A solemn fop, an office Martinet, 
One of those smaU precisians who look big 

If half an hour before their time they get 
To an appointment, and abuse those elves 
IVho are not over-punctual like themselves. 

If you should mark his powder'd head betimes, 

And polish'd shoes in Lothbury, 
You knew the hour — for the thi-ee-quarters' chimes 

Invariably struck as he went by; 
From morning fines he always saved his gammon, 
Not from his hate of sloth, but love of Mammon. 

For Peter had a special eye 
To Number One — his charity 

At home beginning, ne'er extends, 
But where it started had its end too; 

And as to lending cash to friends. 
Luckily he had none to lend to. — 



THE BANK CLEPtK AND THE STABLE-KEEPERS. 33 

No purchases so cheap as his, 

While no one's bargains went so far, 

And though in di'ess a deadly quiz, 
No Quaker more particular. 



This live automaton, who seem'd 
To move by clockwork, ever keen 
To live upon the saving plan, 
Had soon the honour to be deem'd 
That selfish, heartless, cold machine, 
Call'd in the City — a warm man. 



A Bank Director once, who dwelt at Chigwell, 

Pkim to a turtle-feast invited, 
And as the reader knows the prig well, 

I need not say he went, delighted; 
For great men, when they let you slice their meat, 
May give a slice of loan — a richer treat. 

VOL. II. D 



34 THE BANK CLERK AND THE STABLE-KEEPERS. 

No stage leaves Chigwell after eight, 
WTiich was too eai'ly to come back, 

So, after much debate, 

Peter resolved to hire a hack; 

The more inclined to this, because he knew 

In London Wall, at Number Two, 

An economic stable-keeper, 

From whom he hoped to get one cheaper. 

Behold him mounted on his jade, 

A perfect Johnny Gilpin figure; 
But the good bargain he had made 

Compensating for sneer and snigger, 
He trotted on — arrived — sat do-^Ti, 

Devom^'d enough for six or seven, 
His horse remounted, and reach' d town 

As he had fix"d, exactly at eleven. 
But whether habit led him, or the Fates 

To give a preference to Number One, - 

(As he had always done,) 



THE BANK CLERK AND THE STABLE-KEEPERS. 35 

Or that the darkness jumbled the two gates, 
Certain it is he gave that bell a drag, 

Instead of Number Two, 
Rode in, — dismounted — left his nag, 

And homeward hmTied without more ado. 



Some days elapsed, and no one came 
To bring the bill, or payment claim; 
He 'gan to hope 'twas overlook'd, 
Forgotten quite, or never book'd, — 
An erfor which the honesty of Prim 
Would ne'er have rectified, if left to him. 
After six weeks, however, comes a pair 
Of groom-like looking men. 

Each with a bill, which Peter they submit to; 
One for the six weeks' hire of a bay mare. 

And one for six weeks' Tceep of ditto: 
Together — ^twenty- two pounds ten! 



D 2 



36 THE BANK CLEEK AND THE STABLE-KEEPERS. 

The tale got wind. What! Peter make a blunder? 

There was no end of joke, and quiz, and wonder, 

Which, with the loss of cash, so mortified 
Pkim, that he suffered an attack 
Of bile, and bargain'd with a quack, 

Who daily swore to cui*e him — till he died; 
"VSTien, as no will M-as found. 

His scraped, and saved, and hoarded store. 
Went to a man to whom, some months before, 
He had refused to lend a pound! 



PIROlSr, AND THE JUDGE OF THE POLICE. 37 



PIRON, AND THE JUDGE OF THE POLICE. 

PiRON, a Poet of the Gallic nation, 

WTio beat all waggish rivals hollow, 
Was apt to draw his inspiration 

Rather from Bacchus than Apollo. 
His hostess was his deity, 
His Hippocrene was eau-de-vie; 
And though 'tis said 

That poets live not till they die, 
When living he was often dead, — 

That is to say, dead drunk. — •" While I,'' 
Quoth Piron, " Am by all upbraided 

With drunkenness, the vilest, worst. 



38 PIRON, AND THE JUDGE OF THE POLICE. 

Most base, detestable, degraded, 

Of sins that ever man repented, 

None of you blames this cursed thirst 

With which I'm constantly tormented. — 

Worse than a cholic or a phthisic, 

Een now it gripes me so severely, 
That I must fly to calm it, merely 

Swallowing brandy as a physic." 

To cure this unrelenting fever 

He pour'd such doses through his lips, he 
Was shortly what the French call ivre, 

Anglice — tipsy; 
And while the midnight bell was pealing 

Its solemn tolling, 
Our Bacchanal was homeward reeling. 

Tumbling and rolling, 
Until at last he made a stop. 

Suffering his noddle, which he coidd not keep 
Upright, upon the ground to drop, 



PIEON, AND THE JUDGE OF THE POLICE. 39 

And in two minutes was asleep, 
Fast as a top. 

Round came the guard, and seeing him extended 

Across the gutter. 

Incompetent to move or utter, 
They thought at first his days w^ere ended; 
But finding that he was not dead, 
Having lost nothing but his head, 
They popp'd him on a horse's back. 

Just like a sack. 
And shot him on the guard-house floor. 
To let him terminate his snore. 

Next morning when our tippling bard 

Had got his senses. 
They brought a coach into the yard. 

And drove him off to answer his offences, 
Before the Judge of the Police, 

Who made a mighty fass and clamour; 



40 PIRON, AND THE JUDGE OF THE POLICE. 

But, like some Justices of peace, 

Who know as much of law as gi-ammar, 
Was an egregious nimiy-hammer. 

" Well, fellow," cried the magistrate, 

"^\^lat have you got to say for boozing, 

Then lying in the streets and snoozing 

All night in that indecent state ?" — 

" Sir," quoth the culprit to the man of law, 
"It was a frost last night in to^\Ti, 

And tired of tripping, sliding, and slipping, 
Methought I might as well lie down, 

And wait imtil there came a thaw." 
" Pooh ! nonsense ! psha ! 

Imprisonment must be the lot 

Of such a vagabond and sot. 

But, tell me, feUow, what's your name?" 

" PmoN." — "The di-amatist?" — "The same. 
" Ah, well, well, well, Monsiem- Piron, 
Pray take your hat and quit the court, 
For wags like you must have theii' sport; 



PIRON, AND THE JUDGE OF THE POLICE. 41 

But recollect, when you are gone, 
You'll owe me one, and thus I shew it: 
I have a brother who's a poet, 

And lives as you do, by his wits." 
(iuoth PiRON, " that can never pass, 
For I've a brother who's an ass, 

So we are quits." 



42 THE FAEMEK AND THE COUNSELLOE. 



t:he farmer and the counsellor. 

A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas, 
^^^lo was esteem' d a mighty wit, 
Upon the strength of a chance hit 

Amid a thousand flippancies. 

And his occasional bad jokes 

In bullying, bantering, browbeating. 
Ridiculing, and maltreating 

Women, or other timid folks. 

In a late cause resolved to hoax 

A clownish Yorkshire farmer—one 

Who, by his uncouth look and gait, 
Appear'd expressly meant by Fate 

For being quizz'd and played upon: 



THE FAEMEE AND THE COUNSELLOR. 43 

So having tipp'd the \^ank to those, 

In the back rows, 
Who kept their laughter bottled down. 

Until our wag should draw the cork. 
He smiled jocosely on the clown. 

And went to work. — 

'' Well, Farmer Numscull, how go calves at York:" 
'' Why — not, Sir, as they do wi' you, 
But on four legs, instead of two." 

" Officer !" cried the legal elf, 

Piqued at the laugh against himself, 

" Do pray keep silence down below there. 

Now look at me, clown, and attend; 

Have I not seen you somewhere, friend?" 
-' Yees — very like — I often go there." 

" Our rustic's waggish — quite laconic," 

The counsel cried, with grin sardonic; 
" I wish I'd known this prodigy. 
This genius of the clods, when I 



44 THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELLOR. 

On cii'cuit was at York residing. 
Now, Fanner, do for once speak true — 
Mind, you're on oath, so tell me, you, 
Who doubtless think yourself so clever, 
Are there as many fools as ever 

In the West Riding?" 
'' Why — no. Sir, no ; we've got our share, 
But not so many as when you were there!" 



THE COLLEGIA^ A^B THE POETEE. 45 



THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER. 

At Trin. Coll. Cam. — which means, in proper spelling. 

Trinity College, Cambridge, there resided 
One Harry Dashington,--a youth excelling 

In all the learning commonly provided 
For those who choose that classic station 
For finishing their education: 
That is, he understood computing 

The odds at any race or match; 
Was a dead hand at pigeon-shooting; 

Could kick up rows, knock down the watch- 
Play truant and the rake at random- 
Drink — tie cravats — and drive a tandem. 



46 THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTEK. 

Remonstrance, fine, and rustication, 
So far from working reformation, 

Seem'd but to make his lapses greater. 
Till he was wam'd that next offence 
Would have this certain consequence — 

Expulsion from his Alma Plater. 

One need not be a necromancer 

To guess that, with so wild a wight. 
The next offence occurr'd next night, 
When our incurable came rolling 
Home as the midnight chimes were tolling, 

And rung the College bell. — No answer. 

The second peal was vain — the third 

Made the street echo its alarum; 
When to liis great delight he heard 
The sordid Janitor, old Ben, 
Rousing and growling in his den. 

" Who's there ? — I s'posc young Harum Scarum. 



THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER. 47 

" 'Tis I, my worthy B^n, 'tis Harry." 

" Ay, so I thought — and there you'll tarry. 

Tis past the hour — the gates are closed, 
You know my orders; I shall lose 

My place if I undo the door." 
" And I (young Hopeful interposed) 
" Shall be expelled if you refuse; 

So prythee" — Ben began to snore. 

" I m wet," cried Harry, " to the skin ; 

Hip! hallo! Ben! — don't be a ninny; 

Beneath the gate I've thrust a guinea. 
So tumble out and let me in." — 

" Humph!" growled the greedy old curmudgeon. 
Half overjoy'd and half in dudgeon, 

" Now, you may pass, but make no fuss. 
On tiptoe walk, and hold your prate." 

" Look on the stones, old Cerberus," 
Cried Harrj- as he pass'd the gate. 



48 THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER. 

"I've dropp'd a shilling,— take the light, 
You "11 find it just outside; — good night." 

Behold the porter in his shirt, 

Cursing the rain which never stopp'd, 

Groping and raking in the dirt, 

And all without success; but that 

Is hardly to be M'ondered at, 

Because no shilling had been dropp'd; 

So he gave o'er the search at last. 

Regain' d the door and found it fast! 

With sundry oaths, and growls, and groans. 

He rang once, tAvice, and thrice; and then, 

Mingled with giggling, heard the tones 
Of Harry, mimicking old Ben. 

"Who's there? — 'Tis really a disgrace 

To ring so loud. — I've lock'd the gate — 
I know my duty — 'tis too late, 

You wouldn't have me lose my place?" 



THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER. 49 

" Psha! Mr. Dashington: remember, 
This is the middle of November, 

I'm stripp'd, 'tis raining cats and dogs." 
" Hush, hush!" quoth Hal, " I'm fast asleep;" 
And then he snored as loud and deep 
As a whole company of hogs: 
" But, harkye, Ben, I'll grant admittance 

At the same rate I paid myself." 
" Nay, master, leave me half the pittance," 

Replied the avaricious elf. 
" No: all or none — a full acquittance: 

The terms, I know, are somewhat high; 
But you have fix'd the price, not I, — 
I won't take less, I can't aflPord it." 
So, finding all his haggling vain, 
Ben, with an oath and groan of pain. 
Drew out the guinea, and restored it. 

" Surely you'll give me," growled th' outwitted 
Porter, when again admitted, 

VOL. II. E 



50 THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER. 

" Something, now you've done your joking, 
For all this trouble, time, and soaking." 

" Oh sm-ely, sui-ely," Harry said: 
" Since, as you ui*ge, I broke yom* rest. 
And you're half di'own"d, and quite undress' d, 

ril give you — leave to go to bed!" 



THE MAYOR OF MIROBLAIS. 51 



THE MAYOR OF MIROBLAIS. 

While he was laying plans for getting 

The honom-s of the Chajoeau rouge, 
The Cardinal Dubois was ever fretting; 
All his days and nights allotting 
To bribes and schemes, intriguing, plotting, 

Until his face grew yellow as gamboge. 
His eyes sepulchral, dull, and gummy, 
And his whole frame a walking mummy. — 

Meanwhile his steward, De la Vigne, 

Seem'd to be fattening on his master, 

For, as tlie one grew lank and lean, 

The other only thrived the faster, 
e2 



52 THE MAYOK OF MIROBLAIS. 

Enjoying, as he swell'd in figure, 
Such constant spuits, laugh and snigger, 
That it e'en struck his Excellency, 
Who call'd him up, and ask'd him whence he 
Contrived to get so pkmip and jolly, 
While he himself, a man of rank, 
Visibly shrank. 
And daily grew more melancholy. — 

" Really, my lord," the steward said, 
" There "s nothing marvellous in that ; 

" You have a hat for ever in your head, 
" My head is always in my hat." 

Dubois, too wealthy to be marr'd in all 
His plots, was presently a Cardinal, 

And wore what he had pined to win : 
When pasquinades soon flew about, 
Hinting liis sconce was deeper red without. 

Than 'twas within. — 



THE MAYOR OF MIROBLAIS. 53 

Perhaps it was, but that's no matter, 
The Pope, like any other hatter, 
Makes coverings, not heads ; and this 

With its new guest agreed so well, 
That he soon wore an alter' d phiz: 

Ate heartily, began to swell. 
Recover' d from his ails and iUs, 
And grew quite rosy in the gills. 



'Tis strange, but true, our worthy wore 

Fine robes, and wax'd both plump and fresh. 
From the fii*st moment he forswore 

All pomps and appetites of flesh. — 
His Eminence, on this inflation 
Both of his stomach and his station. 

His old Chateau resolved to visit, 
Accompanied by one Dupin, 
A sandy-headed little man, 

"Who daily managed to elicit 



54 THE MAYOR OF MIROBLAIS. 

Jokes from some French Joe Miller's page, 

Old, and but little of tlieir age ; 

Though they drew forth as never-failing 
A roar of laughter every time, 
As if they were as new and prime 

As those which we are now retailing! 



To the Chateau in Languedoc, 

Whole deputations 
From the surrounding districts flock, 

With odes, addi*esses, gratuiations, 

And long orations ; 
And amongst others, the Prefet 

Of Miroblais, 

Famed for its annual Fair of Asses, 
Began a speech which, by its dull 
Exordium, threaten' d to be full 

As long and diy as fifty masses. 



THE MAYOR OF MIROBLAIS. 55 

Dupin, who saw his yawning master 

Somewhat annoy' d by this disaster, 

And thought it might be acceptable 

To quiz the bore, and stop his gabble, 
Abruptly cried — " Pray, Mr. Mayor, 
How much did asses fetch, last Fair?" 

" AVhy, Sir," the worthy Mayor replied, 

As the impertinent he eyed — 

" Small sandy ones, like you, might each 

Sell for three crowns, and plenty too:" 
Then quietly resumed his speech, 

And mouth'd it regularly through. 



56 RA.BELAIS AND THE LAMPRETS. 



RABELAIS AND THE LAMPREYS. 

When the eccentric Rabelais was physician 
To Cardinal Lorraine, he sat at dinner 
Beside that gormandizing sinner; 

Not like the medical magician 

\STio whisk' d from Sancho Panza's fauces 

The evanescent meats and sauces, 
But to protect his sacred master 
Against such diet as obstructs 
The action of the epigastre, 

O'erloads the biliary ducts. 
The peristaltic motion crosses. 
And puzzles the digestive process. 



RABELAIS AND THE LAMPHEYS. 57 

The Cardinal, one hungry day, 

First having with his eyes consumed 
Some lampreys that before him fumed. 
Had plunged his fork into the prey. 
When Rabelais gra^'^ly shook his head, 
Tapp'd on his plate three times and said — 
" Pah! — hard digestion! hard digestion!" 
And his bile-dreading Eminence, 
Though sorely tempted, had the sense 
To send it off without a question. — 

" Hip! Hallo! bring the lampreys here!" 
Cried Rabelais, as the dish he snatch'd; 

And gobbling up the dainty cheer, 
The whole was instantly dispatch' d. 

Redden' d with vain attempts at stifling 
At once his wrath and appetite. 
His patron cried, "Your conduct's rude, 
This is no subject. Sir, for trifling; 



58 RABELAIS AND THE LAMPREYS. 

How dare you designate this food 
As indigestible and crude, 

Then swallow it before my sight?" 

Quoth Rabelais, " It may soon be sho^vn 

That I don't merit this rebuff: 
I tapp'd the plate, and that you'll own, 
Is indigestible enough; 
But as to this unlucky fish, 
With you so strangely out of favour, 

Not only 'tis a wholesome dish. 
But one of most delicious flavour!" 



THE BITER BIT. 



59 



THE BITER BIT. 

Jack Dobson, honest son of tillage, 

The Toby Philpot of his viUage, 
Laugh' d and grew fat, Time's gorgon visage braving: 

To hear him cackle at a hoax, 

Or new edition of old jokes, 
You'd think a Roman Capitol was saving. 

Not Boniface, when at a mug 

Of ale he gave a hearty tug, 
Was fuller of his subject-matter; 

And Dobson had a better plea 

For boasting of its pedigree; 

For his was brew'd at home, and he 
Was infinitely fatter. 



60 THE BITER BIT. 

One cask he had better and stronger 

Than all the rest — brew'd at a christening; 
To pass it set his eyes a glistening; 

In short he couldn't tarry longer, 

But seizing spiggot and a faucet, 

He tapp'd it — quaff 'd a luscious posset — 

Then, like a hospitable fellow, 

Sent for his friends to make them mellow. — 

Among them he invited one 

Call'd Tibbs, a simple-minded wight. 
Whom waggish Dobson took dehght 

To make the subject of his fun: 

For Natiu^e such few brains had put 

In neighbour Tibbs's occiput. 

That all the rustic wags and ^vits 

Found him a most convenient butt 
For their good hits; 

Though sometimes, as both great and small aver, 

He gave them Roland for their Oliver. 



THE BITEK BIT. 61 

The guests all met, and dinner spread, 
Dobson first tipp'd the wink, then said, 
" Well, now, my lads, we'U all draw lots, 

To settle which of us shall go 

Into the cellarage below, 
To fill the pots." 
So saying, he adroitly wriggled 

The shortest into Tibbs's paw, 
Whereat the others hugely giggled, 

And Tibbs, obedient to the law. 

Went down, the beverage to di'aw. 

Now, Farmer Dobson, wicked wag! 

Over the cellar door had slung 

A water-bowl, so slily hung. 
That whoso gave the door a drag, 

Was sure to shower down at once 

A quart of liquid on his sconce. 



62 THE BITER BIT, 

Oui' host and all his brother wits, 

Soon as they heard their victim's tramp, 
'V\Tio look'd half-dl'o^Tn■d, bm-st into fits, 
"Which in fresh peals of laughter flamed, 
"When Tibbs in drawling tone, exclaim' d: 
" Isn't your cellar rather damp?" 

Grace being said, quick havoc follow'd; 
Many good things were said and swallow'd; — 
Joking, laughing, stuffing, and quaffing. 
For a full hour they push'd about 

The cans, and when there came a pause, 

From mere exhaustion of their jaws, 
Tibbs with his nasal twang di'awl'd out — 
" Suppose we now di'aw lots again, 

^\Tiich of us shall go down to put 

The spiggot back into the butt." 
" "\Miy, zounds!" the farmer roar'd amain — 
" The spiggot back! come, come, you're fimning. 
You haven't left the liquor running?" 



THE BITER BIT. 63 

" I did as I was ordered, Jack," 

Quoth Tibbs ; — " and if it was intention'd 

That I should put the spiggot back, 
'Tis a great pity 'twasn't mention'd: — 

You've lost a cask of precious stuff, 

But I, for one, have drunk enough." 

" Ass! numskull! fool!" the farmer cried, — 

"What can one get, confound their souls! 

By asking such half-witted lubbers?" — 

" This lesson, neighbour," Tibbs replied, — 

" That those who -choose to play at bowls 

Must expect rubbers!" 



64 THE PARSON AT FAULT. 



THE PARSON AT FAULT. 

A COUNTRY parson took a notion 
Into his head, one Whitsuntide, 

That it was more like true devotion 
To preach extempore ;— -he tried: 

Succeeded once — twice — thrice — but, lo! 

His foiu-th discourse was not forthcoming ; 
Spite of his hawing and his humming, 

Not a word further could he go; 

So that the worthy man perforce 

Was fain to leave them in the lurch, 
And say, that, since he came to chm-ch. 

He'd lost the thi'cad of his discoui*se. 



THE PARSON AT FAULT. 65 

Whereat a man below exclaim' d, 

" Lock the doors, beadle! search us round, 

All, every one, until it's found: 
The thief should really be ashamed. — 

Here are my pockets — ransack both! 

/ have it not, I'll take my oath." 



VOL. II. 



66 BLIXDMAIir's BUPF, 



BLINDMAN'S BUFF. 

Three wags, (whom some fastidious carpers 
Might rather designate three sharpers,) 

Enter'd, at York, the Cat and Fiddle, 
And finding that the host was out 

On business for two hours or more, 

^^^lile Sam, the rustic waiter, wore 
The visage of a simple lout, 

Whom they might safely try to diddle. 
They order' d dinner in a canter — 

Cold or hot, it mattered not. 
Provided it were served instanter ; 



BLINDMAN S BUFF. 

And as the heat had made them very 
Dry and dusty in their throttles, 
They bade the waiter bring three bottles 

Of prime old port, and one of sherry. — 



Sam ran with ardour to the larder, 

Then to the kitchen; 
And, as he briskly went to work, he 
Drew from the spit a roasting turkey, 

With sausages embellish' d, which in 
A trice upon the board was spread. 
Together with a nice cold brisket, 
Nor did he even obliviscate 

Half a pig's head. 
To these succeeded puddings, pies, 

Custards and jellies, 
All doom'd to fall a sacrifice 

To their insatiable bellies; 

F 2 



68 blindman's buff. 

As if, like camels, they intended 

To stuff into theii* monstrous craws 

Enough to satisfy their maws. 
Until their pilgrimage was ended. 
Talking, laughing, eating, and quaf&ng. 

The bottles stood no moment still; 
They rallied Sam with joke and banter, 
And, as they di-ain'd the last decanter, 

CaU'd for the biU.— 

'Twas brought, — ^^^hen one of them who eyed 
And added up the items, cried, 

" Extremely moderate indeed ! 
I '11 make a point to recommend 
This inn to every travelling friend; 

And you, Sam, shall be doubly fee'd." 
This said, a weighty purse he drew. 

When his companion interposed, — 
" Nay, Harrj% that will never do, 

Pray let your pm'se again be closed: 



blindman's buff. 69 

You paid all charges yesterday, 
'Tis clearly now my turn to pay." 

Harry however, would n't listen 

To any such insulting offer, 
His generous eyes appear to glisten 

Indignant at the very proffer; 
And though his friend talk'd loud, his clangoiu' 
Served but to aggravate Hal's anger. 

"My worthy fellow," cried the third, 

"Now reaUy this is too absurd; 
What ! do both of ye forget 
I have n't paid a farthing yet ? 
Am I eternally to cram 

At your expense? 'tis childish quite; 

I claim this payment as my right — 
Here — how much is the money, Sam?" 

To this most rational proposal 

The others gave such fierce negation. 



70 blixdman's buff. 

One might have fancied they were foes all, 

So hot became the altercation, 
Each in his pm-se his money rattling, 
Insisting, arguing, and battling. 

One of them cried at last — " A truce I — 

This point we %\dll no longer moot; 
Wrangling for trifles is no use. 

And thus we "11 finish the dispute. — 
That we may settle what we three owe, 
We '11 blindfold Sam, and whichsoe'er 
He catches of us first, shall bear 
The whole expenses of the trio. 
With half-a-cro^^^l (if that's enough,) 
To Sam for plapng Blindman's Buff." 

Sam liked it hugely — thought the ransom. 
For a good game of fun was handsome ; 
Gave his own handkerchief beside, 
To have his eyes securely tied. 



blindman's buff. 71 

And soon began to grope and search; 

^\^len the three knaves, I needn't say, 
Adroitly left him in the lurch, 

Slipp'd down the stairs, and stole away. 



Poor Sam continued hard at work; — 
Now o'er a chair he gets a fall; 

Now floundering forwards with a jerk, 
He bobs his nose against the wall; 

And now encom-aged by a subtle 
Fancy, that they're near the door, 
He jumps behind it to explore, 

And breaks his shins against the scuttle. — 

Crying, at each disaster — " Drat it ! 

Dang it! 'od rabbit it! and rat it!"— 

Just in this crisis of his doom, 

The host, returning, sought the room; 



72 blindman's buff. 

And Sam no sooner heard his tread, 
Than, pouncing on him like a bruin. 
He almost shook him into ruin, 

And with a shout of laughter said — 

" By gom, I've coteh'd thee now, so down 
With cash for all, and my half crown!" — 

Off went the bandage, and his eyes 

Seem'd to be goggling o'er his forehead. 
While his mouth widen' d with a horrid 

Look of agonised surprise. 

" Gull !" roar'd his master, " Gudgeon ! dunce ! 
Fool as you are, you're right for once, 
'Tis clear that I must pay the sum; — 

But this one thought my wrath assuages — 
That every halfpenny shall come 

Out of your wages !" 



THE POET AND THE ALCHEMIST. 73 



THE POET AND THE ALCHEMIST. 

Authors of modern date are wealthy fellows ;- 
'Tis but to snip his locks and follow 
Now the golden-hair' d Apollo. 
Invoking Plutus to blow up the beUows 

Of inspiration, they distil 
The rhymes and novels which cajole us. 

Not from the Heliconian rill 
But from the waters of Pactolus, 

Before this golden age of writers, 
A Grub-street Garreteer existed, 

One of the regular inditers 

Of odes and poems to be twisted 



74 THE POET AND THE ALCHEMIST. 

Into encomiastic verses, 

For patrons who have hea^y purses. 
Besides the BeUman's rhjmes, he had 
Others to let, both gay and sad, 

All ticketed from A to Izzard; 
And living by his v\its, I need not add. 

The rogue was lean as any lizard. 

Like a rope-maker's were his ways, 
For still one line upon another 
He spun, and, like his hem]Den brother, 

Kept going backwards all his days. 

Hard by his attic lived a Chemist, 
Or Alchemist, who had a mighty 
Faith in the Elixir Vitse; 
And though unflatter'd by the dimmest 
Glimpses of success, kept gi'oping 
And grubbing in his dark vocation. 
Stupidly hoping 



THE POET AND THE ALCHEMIST. 75 

To find the art of changing metals, 
And guineas coin from pots and kettles, 
By mystery of transmutation. 

Our star™g poet took occasion 

To seek this conjuror's abode; 

Not with encomiastic ode, 
Or laudatory dedication, 
But with an offer to impart. 
For twenty poimds the secret art. 
Which should procure, without the pain 

Of metals, chemistry, and fire. 
What he so long had sought in vain, 

And gratify his heart's desire. 

The money paid, our bard was hurried 

To the philosopher's sanctorum. 
Who, somewhat sublimized and flurried 

Out of his chemical decorimi. 



76 THE POET AND THE ALCHEMIST, 

Crow'd, caper' d, giggled, seem'd to spurn his 
Crucibles, retort, and furnace, 
And cried as he secured the door, 

And carefully put to the shutter, 
" Now, now, the secret I implore; 

For God's sake speak, discover, utter!" 

With gi-ave and solemn air the Poet 

Cried — "List — oh, list! for thus I show it: — 

Let this plain truth those ingrates strike. 

Who still, though bless'd, new blessings crave, 
ITiat we may all have what we like, 

Simply by liking what we have!" 



THE ASTRONOMICAL ALDERMAN. 77 



THE ASTRONOMICAL ALDERMAN, 

The pedant or scholastikos became 
The butt of all the Grecian jokes ;—= 

With us, poor Paddy bears the blame 
Of blunders made by other folks; 

Though we have certain civic sages 
Term'd Aldermen, who perpetrate 
Bulls as legitimate and great, 

As any that the classic pages 
Of old Hierocles can show, 

Or Mr. Miller's, commonly called Joe.— 



78 THE ASTRONOMICAL ALDERMAN. 

One of tliese tm-tle- eating men, 
Not much excelling in his spelling, 

"\\Tien ridicule he meant to brave. 
Said he was more ph. than n. 

Meaning thereby, more 2)^^ool than nave. 
Though they who knew our cunning Thraso, 
Pronomiced it flattery to say so. 
His Civic brethi'en to express 

His "double, double, toil and trouble," 
And bustling noisy emptiness. 

Had christen* d him Sir Hubble Bubble. 

This wight ventripotent was dining 
Once at the Grocers' Hall, and lining 

With calipee and calipash 
That tomb omnivorous — his pamich. 
Then on the haunch 

Inflicting many a horrid gash. 
When having swallow" d six or seven 

Poimds, he fell into a mood 



THE ASTRONOMICAL ALDERMAN. 79 

Of such supreme beatitude, 
That it reminded him of Heaven, 
And he began with mighty bonhomie 
To talk Astronomy. — 

" Sir," he exclaim'd, between his bimipers, 
" Copernicus and Tycho Brahe, 
And all those chaps, have had their day; 

They've WTitten monstrous lies, Sir, thumpers! — 

Move round the smi? — it's talking treason; 

The earth stands still — it stands to reason. — 

Round as a globe? stuff— humbug — fable! 

It's a flat sphere, like this here table. 

And the sun overhangs this sphere. 

Ay — just like that there chandelier." 

" But," quoth his neighbour, " when the smi 
From East to West his course has run. 
How comes it that he shows his face 
Next morning in his former place?" 



80 THE ASTRONOMICAL ALDERMAN. 

" Ho! there's a pretty question, truly!" 
Replied our wight, with an unruly 
Burst of laughter and delight. 

So much his triumph seem'd to please him; 
" Why blockhead! he goes back at night. 

And that's the reason no one sees him!" 



SOUTH-DOWN MUTTON. 81 



SOUTH-DOWN MUTTON. 

If men, when in a rage, inspected 

Before a glass their angry featui-es. 
Most likely they would stand corrected 

At sight of such distorted creatures; 
So we may hold a moral mirror 

Before these myrmidons of passion. 
And make ill temper see its error, 

By gravely mimicking its fashion. 

A sober Cit of Sweeting's Alley, 

Deem'd a warm man on 'Change, was what 
In temper might be reckoned hot, 

Indidging many an angry sally 

VOL. II. G 



82 SOUTH-DOWN MUTTON. 

Against his wife and servants: — (this 
Is no unprecedented state 
For man and wife, when, tete-a-tete. 

They revel in domestic bliss,) — 

But to show off his freaks before his 

Guests, was contra honos mores. 

Om- Cit was somewhat of a glutton, 
Or epicm-e, at least in mutton; 
Esteeming it a more delicious 
Feast, than those of old Apicius, 
Crassus' savomy symposia, 
Or even Jupiter's ambrosia. 

One day a leg arrived from Brighton, 
A true South Down legitimate, 

AVhen he enlarged with much delight on 
The fat and grain, and shape and weight; 

Pronounced on each a learned stricture, 

Declared the joint a perfect picture, 



SOUTH-DOWN MUTTON. 83 

And as his eye its outline follow* d, 

Call'd it a prize — a lucky hit — 

A gem — a pearl more exquisite 
Than ever Cleopatra swallow' d; 
Promulging finally, this fiat — 
" I'll dine at five, and ask Jack Wyatt." 

The cover raised, the meat he eyed 
With new enjoyment — next the cloth he 

Tuck'd in his button-hole, and cried, 
" Done to a tittle — ^brown and frothy!" 

Then seized the carving-knife, elate. 

But lo! it would not penetrate 

The skin — (the anatomic term is 

The what-d' -ye-call ? — ay — epidermis . ) 

He felt the edge — 'twas like a dump ; 

Whereat with passion-crimson'd frown, 

He reach' d the stair-head at a jump. 

And threw the blade in fury down, 
G 2 



84 SOUTH-DOWN MUTTON. 

Venting unnumber'd ciu-ses on 

His thoughtless lazy servant — John. • 

His guest, observing this disclosui-e 

Of temper, threw with great composm-e 

The dish, with mutton, spoons and all, 

Down helter-skelter to the hall, 

AVhere it arrived with fearful clatter. 

"Zounds!" cried the Cit, — "why, what's the matter?" 

"Nothing whatever," with a quiet 

Look and accent, answer'd Wyatt: 

"I hope I haven't imawares 
Made a mistake; but when you threw 
Tlie knife below, in such a stew, 

I thought you meant to dine down stairs!" 



EVENING. 85 



EVENING; AN ELEGY. 



By a Poetical Carman. 



Apollo now, Sol's carman, di'ives his stud 
Home to the mews that's seated in the West, 

And Customs' clerks, like him, through Thames Street mud, 
Now westering wend, in Holland trowsers dress'd. 

So from the stands the empty carts are dragg'd, 
The horses homeward to their stables go. 

And mine, with hauling heavy hogsheads fagg'd. 
Prepare to taste the luxury of — "Wo!" 



86 EVENING. 

Now from the slaughter-houses cattle roar, 

Knowing that ^vith the mom their lives they yields, 

And Mr. Sweetman's gig is at the door, 

To take him to his house in Hackney Fields. 

Closed are the gates of the West India Docks, 
Rums, Sugars, Coffee, find at length repose. 

And I, ^vith other careless carmen, flocks 

To the King's Head, the Chequers, or the Rose. 

They smoke a pipe — the shepherd's pipe I wakes, 
Them skittles pleases — me the Muse invites. 

They in their ignorance to drinking takes, 

I, bless' d vrith learning, takes a pen and wTites, 



PATENT BROWN STOUT. 87 



PATENT BROWN STOUT. 

A Brewer, in a country town. 

Had got a monstrous reputation; 
No other beer but his went down;— 

The hosts of the surrounding station 
Engraved his name upon their mugs, 

And painted it on every shutter; 

And though some envious folks would utter 
Hints, that its flavom' came from drugs, 
Others maintain'd 'twas no such matter. 

But owing to his monstrous vat, 

At least as corpulent as that 
At Heidelberg — and some said fatter. 



88 PATENT BROWN STOUT. 

His foreman was a lusty Black, 

An honest fellow; 
But one who had an ugly knack 
Of tasting samples as he brew'd, 

Till he was stupified and mellow. 
One day, in this top-hea\7^ mood, 
Having to cross the vat aforesaid, 
(Just then with boiling beer supplied,) 

O'ercome with giddiness and qualms, he 
Reel'd — fell in — and nothing more said, 
But in his favouiite liquor died. 

Like Clarence in his butt of Malmsey. 



In all directions round about 
The Negro absentee was sought; 
But as no human noddle thought 
That oui- fat Black was now Brown Stout, 
They settled that the rogue had left 
The place for debt, or crime, or theft. 



PATENT BROWN STOUT. 

Meanwhile the beer was, day by day, 
Drawn into casks and sent away, 

Until the lees flow'd thick and thicker; 
When lo! outstretch' d upon the ground, 
Once more their missing friend they found. 

As they had often done — in liquor. 



" See !" cried his moralizing master, 

" I always knew the fellow drank hard. 
And prophesied some sad disaster; 
His fate should other tipplers strike: 
Poor Mungo! there he welters, like 

A toast at bottom of a tankard !" 
Next mom a publican, whose tap 

Had help'd to drain the vat so dry. 
Not having heard of the mishap, 

Came to demand a fresh supply, 
Protesting loudly that the last 
All previous specimens surpassed, 



89 



90 PATENT BROWN STOUT. 

Possessing a mucli richer gusto 

Than formerly it ever used to, 

And begging, as a special favour, 

Some more of the exact same flavom*. — 

" Zounds !" cried the Brewer, " that 's a task 

More difficult to grant than ask : — 

Most gladly would I give the smack 

Of the last beer to the ensuing, 
But where am I to find a Black, 

And boil him down at every brewing?" 



YOKK KIDNEY POTATOES. 



91 



YORK KIDNEY POTATOES. 

One Farmer Giles, an honest clown 
From Peterborough, had occasion 

To travel up to London to\\Ti, 
About the death of a relation. 

And wrote, his purpose to explain, 

To cousin Jos. in Martin's lane ; 

WTio quickly sent him such an answer, as 
Might best determine him to dwell 
At the Blue Boar — the Cross — the Bell, 

Oi' some one of the caravanseras 

To which the various coaches went — 

All which, he said, were excellent. 



92 YORK KIDXEY POTATOES. 

Quoth Giles, " I think it rather odd he 
Should write me thus, when I have read 
That London hosts will steal at dead 
Of night, to stab you in your bed, 

Pocket your purse, and sell your body; 

To 'scape from which unpleasant process, 

m drive at once to cousin Jos.'s." 

Now cousin Jos. (whose name was Spriggs) 
Was one of those punctilious prigs 

Who reverence the comme il faut ; 
Who deem it criminal to vary 
From modes prescribed, and thus " Monstrari 

Pretereuntium digito." 

Conceive him wiithing do^\^l the Strand 
With a live rustic in his hand, 

At once the gaper and gappe; 
And pity his unhappy plight, 
Condemn'd when, tete-a-tete, at night 



YORK KIDNEY POTATOES. 93 

To talk of hogs, nor deem it right 
To show his horrible ennui. 

Jos. was of learned notoriety, 

One of the male Blue-stocking clan, 

Was register' d of each Society, 
Royal and Antiquarian; 

Took in the Scientific Journal, 

And wrote for Mr. Urban' s Mag. 

(For fear its liveliness should flag,) 

A thermometrical diurnal. 

With statements of old tombs and churches, 

And such imreadable researches. 

Wearied to death, one Thursday night, 
With hearing our agrarian wight 

Prose about crops, and farms and dailies, 
Spriggs cried—" A truce to corn and hay,— - 
Somerset House is no great way, 

We '11 go and see the Antiquaries." — 



94 YORK KIDNEY POTATOES. | 

"And what are they?" inquired his guest: — 
" Why, Sir," said Jos., somewhat distress' d S 

To answer his interrogator, — ' 

" They are a sort — a sort — a kind i 

I 
Of commentators upon Natui*e." — j 

" What, common 'tatoes !" Giles rejoin' d, i 

His fist upon the table dashing: 

" Take my ad\'ice — don't purchase one, 



None but York kidneys does for mashing. 



i 

i 

Not even at a groat a ton, — i 



THE HANDKERCHIEF. 95 



THE HANDKERCHIEF. 

A Judge of the Police, and Spy, 

(For both are joined in Eastern nations,) 

Prowling about with purpose sly, 
To list to people's conversations, 

And pry in every corner cupboard, 

According to his dirty calling, 

Saw a poor woman passing by, 
Who wept and blubber' d, 

Like a church spout, when rain is falling, 
Which strives in vain to vent and utter 
The overflowings of the gutter. 



96 THE HAXDKEECHIEF. 

Our magistrate thought fit to greet her, 
Insisting on the dame's declaring 

What caused this monstrous ululation, 
When she averr'd her spouse had beat her 
Black and blue, beyond all bearing, 
Without the smallest provocation. 



To work the Judge's pen and ifik went, 

Taking the rogue's addi-ess and trade, 
And the next morning the delinquent 

Was duly into court convey'd: 
^Vhen he asserted, that his ^^dfe 
Was such an advocate of strife, 
That she would raise a mighty clangom-. 

And put herself into a pucker, 
For trifles that sui'pass'd belief; 
And, for the recent cause of anger, 

He swore, point blank, that he had struck her 
With nothing but his handkerchief. 



THE HANDKEKCHIEF. 97 

The judge, convinced by this averment, 

Dismiss' d the case without a word; 
When in the court there rose a ferment, 

And the wife's angry voice was heard: — 
". To cheat your worship is too bad ! 

My lord, my lord ! do interpose, 

And stop the knave where'er he lingers ; 
The villain! he forgot to add 

That he for ever blows his nose 
With his own fingers!" 



VOL. II. 



98 THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH. 



THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH. 

One of the Kings of Scanderoon, 

A royal jester, 
Had in his train a gross buffoon, 

Who used to pester 
The coui't with tricks inopportune, 
Venting on the highest folks his 
Scur^-y pleasantries and hoaxes. 

It needs some sense to play the fool; 
AVhich wholesome rule 



THE JESTEK CONDEMNED TO DEATH. 99 

Occurr'd not to our jackanapes, 

Who consequently found his freaks 

Lead to innumerable scrapes, 

And quite as many kicks and tweaks, 

Which only seem'd to make him faster 

Try the patience of his master. 



Some sin at last, beyond all measm'e, 
Incurr'd the desperate displeasm-e 

Of his serene and raging highness : 
Whether the wag had twitch'd his beard. 
Which he was bound to have revered. 

Or had intruded on the shyness 

Of the seraglio, or let fly 

An epigram at royalty. 

None knows — his sin was an occult one; 

But records tell us that the sultan, 

Meaning to terrify the knave, 

Exclaimed — '"Tis time to stop that breath; 
h2 



100 THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH. 

Thy doom is seal'd; — presumjptuous slave! 

Thou stand'st condemn' d to cei-tain death. 

Silence, base rebel ! — no replying I — 
But such is my indulgence still, 
That, of my oaati free graCe and will, 

I leave to thee the mode of djing." 

" Thy royal will be done — 'tis just," 
Replied the ^^Tetch, and kiss'd the dust; 

" Since, my last moments to assuage, 
Your majesty's hiunane decree 
Has deign'd to leave the choice to me, 

1*11 die, so please you, of old age." 



LATJS ATEA.MENTI. 101 



LAUS ATRAMENTI, 
Or the Praise of Blacking. 

A New Song. 

Our Sires were such pedagogue blockheads of yore, 

That they sent us to college instmction to seek, 
Where we bother' d our brains with pedantical lore, 

Law, Logic, and Algebra, Latin and Greek; 
But now, wiser grown, leaving learning alone, 
And resolving to shine by a light of om* own. 
Our cares we transfer from the head to the foot. 
Leave the brain to be muddied, and polish the boot. 



102 LAUS ATEAMENTI. 

On the banks of the Isis, ye classical fools, 

Who Avith Lycophi-on's crabbeclness puzzle yom- ear, 
And ye who learn logarithmetical rules 

At Cambridge, from tables of Baron Napier, 
Renounce Aristotle, and take to the bottle 
That wears " Patent Blacking" inscribed on its throttle : 
For Napier and Greek are by few miderstood. 
While all can decide when yom* blacking is good. 

Wlien a gentleman dubb'd by the wdght of the brush, 

^Vhich has set up youi* foot in Corinthian style, 
For the rest of your wardi'obe you care not a rush, 

Seciure of the public's distinguishing smile. 
Though yom' di-ess may be dusty, and musty and fusty 
You're whitewash' d by blacking, and camiot be inisty ;— 
Such errors as these are but venial and small, 
People look at j^oui- boot, which atones for them all. 

And ye who are struggling your fortune to make 
By the brief or the bolus, law, commerce, or trade, 



LAUS ATRAMENTI. 103 

Your pitiful schemes of ambition forsake, 

And be makers of blacking, by tamits undismayVl : 
For what is auguster than giving a lustre 
To those who without you would hardly pass muster. 
And by selling your " brilliant and beautiful jet,'* 
A name and a fortune together to get? — 

Day and Martin now laugh as they ride in their coach, 
Till they're black in the face as their customers' boots ; 

Warren swears that his blacking's beyond all approach, 
Which Turner's advertisement plumply refutes; 

They hector and huff, print, publish, and puff, 

And write in the papers ridiculous stuff, 

While Hunt, who was blacken' d by all, and run down, 

Takes a thriving revenge as he blackens the town. 

Their labels belibel each other — each wall 

With the feuds of these rivals in blacking is white; 

But the high polish' d town seems to patronise all. 
And the parties get rich in each other's despite; 



104 LAUS ATRAMENTI. 

For my own part, I think I shall mix up my ink. 
In a bottle with lamp-black and beer to the brink, 
And set up at once for a shiner of shoes, 
Since I never shall shine by the aid of the muse. 



THE TWO BRACELETS. 105 



THE TWO BRACELETS. 



A Farmer General, one Monsieur B- 



Who dwelt in France when Louis held the throne. 
Lived like a prince from every trouble free, 

Except a wife, — (th' exception 's large, I own) 
For she was fat as any marchioness, 
And given to extravagance in dress.- — 

One day she bought a pair of bracelets — such 
As few but royal damsels would bespeak; 

They cost — I cannot recollect how much. 
But they were quite magnificent — unique, — 

And having clasp'd them on, away she flies 

Ofl* to the Opera to show her prize. 



106 THE TWO BRACELETS. 

It happen* d that the Queen was there that night, 
Just opposite the box that Madame took, 

And on the bracelets with intense delight 
Frequently look'd — or else appear' d to look; 

For she took special care to have them seen, 
As if on pm-pose to outvie the Queen. 

Soon to the box door came a Page, attired 
In the Queen's proper livery, all in style. 

And in the name of Majesty required 
One of the bracelets for a little while, 

That by her eye she might the pattern take. 

And order some of the exact same make. 

Off went the sparkling bauble in a trice. 

While her rouged cheeks with exultation burn, 

As, bowing to the Royal party thrice, 
She patiently awaited its return; 

But when the Queen retired, and none was sent, 

Our dame began to wonder what it meant. — 



THE TWO BRACELETS. 107 

A Lord in waiting soon confirm' d her fears : 
" Oh, that pretended Page I've often seen, — 

A noted sharper — ^lias been such for years. 

Madame, you're robb'd, — he came not from the Queen ; 

I knew the rogue, and should have had him taken, 

But that he slipp'd away, and saved his bacon." 

Boiling with anger, Madame called her coach, 

And drove to the Bureau de la Justice, 
Where, with loud tongue, and many a keen reproach, 

About the shameful state of the police, -• 
She call'd upon the Provost for relief, 
And bade him send his men to catch the thief. 

Early next morn she heard the knocker's din ; 

Her heart beat high, with expectation big. 
When lo! the Provost's Clerk was usher' d in, — 

A formal consequential little prig. 
Who, with a mighty magisterial air, 
Hemm'd, and began his errand to declare : — 



108 THE TWO BRACELETS. 

" Madame, a man is brought to om- bm-eaii, 
On whom was foimd a bracelet of great cost, 

And we are all anxiety to knoAv 

Whether or not it is the one you lost ; 

Wherefore I'll take the other, if you please. 

Just to compare, and see if it agrees." 

" Dear Sir, I'm overjoy'd, — "tis mine, I 'm sm'e ; 

Such a police as om-s how few can boast! 
Here, take the bracelet, — keep the rogue secm'e, 

I'll follow you in half an horn- at most; 
Ten thousand thanks — I hope you'll trounce the spark- 
Open the door, there, for the Provost's Clerk !" 

Oh! how she chuckled as she di'ove along. 
Settling what pangs the pilferer should feel: 

No punishment appeared to her too strong. 

E'en should the ^vi-etch be broken on the wheel; 

For what infliction could be reckon' d cruel. 

To one who would pm'loin so rich a jewel? 



THE TWO BRACELETS. 109 

Arrived at the bureau, her joy finds vent : 

'' Well, Mr. Provost, where 's the guilty knave ? 

The other bracelet by youi' clerk I sent, 

Doubtless it matches with the one you have; 

Why, then, outstretch your mouth with such surprise, 

And goggle on me thus with all your eyes?" 

" La ! bless me, Ma'am, you're finely hoax'd — good lack ! 

I sent no clerk, no thief have we found out, 
And the important little prig in black 

Was the accomplice of the Page no doubt; — 
Methinks the rascals might have left you one, 
But both yom- bracelets now are fairly gone!" 



110 MARSHAL SAXE AXD HIS PHYSICIAN. 



MARSHAL SAXE AND HIS PHYSICIAN. 

Fever's a most audacious varlet: — 
Now in a general's face he shakes 
His all-defying fist, and makes 

His visage like his jacket — scarlet; 

Now o'er siu-roimding guards he thi-ows 
A summerset, and never squeaks 
'' An' please yoiu' Majesty," but tweaks 

The Lord's anointed by the nose. 

With his inflammatory finger, 

(Much like the heater of an m-n) 
He makes the pulses boil and bm-n, 
Puts fur upon the tongue, (not ermine,) 
And leaves his prey to die or linger. 
Just as the doctors may determine. 



MAESHAL SAXE AND HIS PHYSICIAN. Ill 

Though this disorder sometimes seems 

Mild and benignant, 
It interferes so with om- schemes, 
Imparting to om* heads a dizziness, 
Just when we want them clear for business, 

That it may well be termed malignant. 

Of these inopportune attacks. 
One fiercely fell on Marshal Saxe, 
Just as his troops had open'd trenches 

Before a fortress; (what a pity!) 
Not only did it make his heart ache 
To be condemn'd to pill, cathartic, 
Bolus and blister, di'ugs and drenches. 
But shocked his military notions, 
To make him take unwish'd-for potions. 

Instead of taking, as he wish'd, — the city. 

Sen AC, however, his physician, 
Soon gave om* invalid permission 



112 MARSHAL SAXE AND HIS PHYSICIAN. 

To be coach 'd out an easy distance, 
First stipulating one condition, — 
That whatsoe'er the when and where, 
The Doctor should be then and there, 
Lest any sjTicope, relapse, 
Or other unforeseen mishaps. 

Should call for medical assistance. 



Saxe gives consent with all his heart. 
Orders the carriage in a minute, 
Whispers the coachman — mounts witliin it, 

Senac the same, and off they start. 
Joking, smiling, time beguiling, 
In a facetious tete-a-tete. — 

The subject of their mutual chatter is 
Nothing to us; — enough to state 

That Marshal Saxe at length got out 

To recomioitre a redoubt, 

Projecting from a range of batteries. 



MARSHAL SAXE AND HIS PHYSICIAN. 113 

Left in the carriage, oui* physician 
By no means relish'd his position, 
When he discover' d they had got 
Nearly within half cannon shot; 
Wherefore he bawl'd, with fear half melted, 

" For God's sake move me from this spot ! — 
Doubtless they've noticed our approach, 
And, when they recognize your coach. 
Shan't I be fired at, pepper'd, pelted, 
(When I can neither fly nor hide) 

From some of yonder bristling masses?" 
" It's not unlikely," Saxe replied; 
" And w^ar I know is not youi* trade, 
So if you feel the least afraid. 

Pull up the glasses 1" 



yoL. II. 



114 STANZAS TO PUNCHINELLO. 



STANZAS TO PUNCHINELLO. 

Thou lignum-vitae Roscius, who 

Dost the old vagrant stage renew, 
Peerless, inimitable, Punchinello! 

The Queen of smiles is quite out-done 

By thee, all-glorious king of fmi. 
Thou griiming, giggling, laugh-extorting fellow! 

At other times mine ear is wrung 

Whene'er I hear the trumpet's tongue, 
Waking associations melancholic; 

But that which heralds thee recalls 

All childhood's joys and festivals, 
And makes the heart rebound with freak and frolic. 



STANZAS TO PUNCHINELLO. 115 

Ere of thy face I get a snatch, 

Oh! with what boyish glee I catch 
Thy twittering, cackling, bubbling, squeaking gibber — 

Sweeter than sjTcn voices — fraught 

With richer merriment than aught 
That drops from witling mouths, though Utter'd glibber. 

What way was ever known before 

To keep the circle in a roar, 
Nor wound the feelings of a single hearer! 

Engrossing all the jibes and jokes, 

Unenvied by the duller folks, 
A harmless wit — an unmalignant jeerer. 

The upturn' d eyes I love to trace 

Of wondering mortals, when their face 

Is all alive with an expectant gladness: 

To mark the flickering giggle first. 

The growing grin — the sudden burst, 

And universal shout of merry madness. 
I 2 



116 STANZAS TO PUNCHINELLO. 

I love those sounds to analyse, 
From childhood's shrill ecstatic cries, 

To age's chuckle with its coughing after; 
To see the gi'ave and the genteel 
Rein in awhile the mirth they feel, 

Then loose their muscles, and let out the laughter 

Sometimes I note a henpeck'd wight 

Enjoying thy marital might, 
To him a beatific heau ideal; 

He counts each crack on Judy's pate. 

Then homeward creejDS to cogitate 
The difference 'twixt di-amatie wives and reaL 

But, Pmich, thou'rt migallant and rude. 

In plying thy persuasive wood; 
Remember that thy cudgel's gii'th is fuller 

Than that compassionate, thumb-thick, 

Established wife-compelling stick. 
Made legal by the dictum of Judge Buller. 



STANZAS TO PUNCHINELLO. 117 

When the officious doctor hies 

To cure thy spouse, there's no surprise; 
Thou should'st receive him with nose-tweaking 
grappling; 

Nor can we wonder that the mob 

Encores each crack upon his nob, 
When thou art feeing him with oaken sapling. 

As for our common enemy, 

Old Nick, we all rejoice to see 
The coup de grace that silences his wrangle; 

But, lo! Jack Ketch! — ah, welladay! 

Dramatic justice claims its prey, 
And thou in hempen handkerchief must dangle. 

Now helpless hang those arms which once 

Rattled such music on the sconce; 
Hush'd is that tongue which late out-jested Yorick; 

That hunch behind is shrugg'd no more. 

No longer heaves that paunch before, 
Which wagg'd with such a pleasantry plethorick. 



118 STANZAS TO PUNCHINELLO. 

But Thespian deaths are transient woes, 

And still less dui-able are those 
Suffer* d by lignum- vitee malefactors; 

Thou wilt return, alert, alive, 

And long, oh long may'st thou sui'vive, 
First of head-breaking and side-splitting actors! 



THE HURRICANE AND THE MENACE. 119 



THE HURRICANE AND THE MENACE. 

Verdant St. Kitt's! thou art indeed a gem, 
" A precious stone set in the silver sea," 

An emerald in Neptmie's diadem, 
An island formed in Nature's poetry; 

And yet thou art unsung by son or stranger. 

Save a few passing lines by Doctor Grainger.* 

The vale of Tempe, — Plato's fabled isle, 
Hesperian gardens, Enna's classic plain, 

* In his poem of the '* Sugar Cane." 



120 THE HURRICANE AND THE MENACE. 

All, all must yield to that Ai'cadian smile 
That thou, in thy unparagon'd domain, 
Palmy St. Christopher's, the sweetest, fairest 
Of earthly Paradises, ever wearest. — 

Wild and romantic are thy breezy mountains, 

Forth from whose sides, with cane plantations clad, 

Leap here and there perennial rills and foimtains. 
Making the landscape all so green and glad. 

That nj-Tnphs and sylvans thi'ough thy bowers might 
ramble. 

And Nereids in thy glassy waters gambol. 

Contentment with his lot I ne'er could trace 

In any Negro, save a single soul, 
And he, poor fellow, — which explains the case — 

Was a good-humour'd, grinning, brainless droll. 
Whose nickname. Silly Bingo, presupposes 
That he was not a Solomon or Moses. 



THE HURRICANE AND THE MENACE. 121 

Bingo, whose fortune never made him grumble, 
The banshaw ('tis a rude guitar) could twang, 

And after work was fain to sing, dance, tumble. 
As the mere butt of every Negro gang; 

And yet this seeming simple-witted donkey, 

In pilfering was as subtle as a monliey. 

One Mr. Jackson was the overseer 

Of the estate where Bingo was employ'd; 

Nor could St. Christopher's produce his peer, 
For he was honest to the Planter, void 

Of all oppression, hated whips, loved pardons, 

And had a taste for rural shades and gardens. 

Palm Villa, his abode, was sweetly placed 

Between the sloping mountains and the ocean; 

An avenue of noble palm-trees graced 

Its front; while, singing to its own commotion, 

A stream tliroughout the shady grounds meander' d, 

Diffusing coolness wheresoe'er it wander'd. 



122 THE HURRICANE AND THE MENACE. 

The mansion's rear was shaded by a screen 
Of lofty tamarinds and cassias sweet; 

On either side were fragrant gardens seen, 
Where melons, sabbacas, and citrons meet, 

Limes, lemons, guavas, sappadillas mellow. 

The green anana, and the shaddock yellow. 

Hence, when refreshen' d by the moist Aurora, 
Incense and balm were wafted all around, 

And in all seasons, unexhausted Flora 

Broider'd with richest tapestry the ground; 

Wliile the gilt humming-bird and cooing turtle 

Perch' d on each hedge of acassee and myrtle. 

Xatui-e, however, loves to strike a balance; 

And he who once has known the venom' d bite 
Of fierce mosquitoes, felt the land-crab's talons. 

Or found cockroaches in his bed at night. 
Knows to his sorrow that the land they breed in 
Is not by any means a curseless Eden. 



THE HUKKICANE AND THE MENACE. 123 

Here in an arbour I had foimd a seat 
Of privet with carnation shrubs entwined, 

Yielding a fragrant shelter from the heat 
And persecuting flies of every kind, 

When divers simultaneous signs accruing, ' 

Proved that an elemental war was brewing. 

The warn'd mosquitoes left the sunny light, 
The speckled lizards to their holes withdrew, 

Cockroaches crawled abroad, a loathsome sight! 
And land-crabs crept from every slope in view ; 

While doves and pigeons, on the roofs collected. 

Up to the sky their anxious looks directed. 

A suffocating heat oppressed the air, 

Stiird were the lightest feathers of the palm, 

The sky was coppery, and a blood-red glare 
Shot from the misty sun; — portentous cabn! 

When Nature's self appears to faint and sicken, 

And wail her doom, aghast and horror-stricken. 



124 THE HUEEICANE AND THE MENACE. 

The fear-fraught waves came panting to the shore, 
Usher'd by flocks of scared and screammg birds ; 

While, as they wildly eyed the clouds, a roar 
Loud-bellowing burst from the bewilder" d herds; 

And the mazed horse, with sudden fear transported, 

Snuffing the tainted air, stood still and snorted. 

To covert fled the Negroes, 'mid the cry 
Of wailing dogs : at which absorbing hour 

Did SiUy Bingo, judging none would spy 
His depredations, steal upon my bower. 

Thinking no doubt that he had found a famous 

Season for plundering the contiguous yam-house. 

The dog that guarded it had lately died, — 

Poison'd perhaps, but that was not in proof; — 

But stiU the Black with much misgiving eyed 
The precincts, keeping carefully aloof. 

Then crouching on as stealthily as BejTiard, 

When he is stealing to attack a hen-yard. 



THE HUKRICANE AND THE MENACE. 125 

Reaching the place, he fill'd his bag, and back 
The rogue retreated with his shoulder' d prize, 

Peering with fearful joy around his track, 

Showing his teeth, and rolling his large eyes, — 

Just like some great baboon, who, undiscovered. 

Steals with his plunder to the nearest covert. 

The bag within a tangled brake he dropp"d, 
Then back to his companions would have fled ; 

But suddenly, as if transfix'd, he stopp'd, 
Scared by the skies so menacing and dread : 

For now a low'ring hurricane impended. 

That woe and horror to the isle portended. 

Up from the westward heaves a mass of clouds. 
Climbing successively the mountain tips, 

Which rapidly the whole horizon shrouds 
In lurid gloom, and fulgurous eclipse ; 

While the dark ridges, as they take position. 

Seem batteries for the island's demolition. 



126 THE HUKRICANE AND THE MENACE. 

Crash! burst the whole artillery of thunder, 
Concentrating its force in one explosion, 

As it would rive the rooted earth asunder. 
Split the sky's vault, and overturn the ocean; 

Fierce leap'd the lightning forth, as if with savage 

Triumph it came, the world to blast and ravage. 

The prison' d winds break loose, like Furies dire. 
Rattling their chains, and roaring all amain; 

Heaven's flood-gates open, water leagues with fire; 
It might be thought the frantic hurricane. 

As in its fangs the shrieking isle it seizes, 

Would shake and tear it in ten thousand pieces. 

All is confusion, terror, havoc, flight — 

Plantations, houses, to the ground are hurl'd. 

The welkin yells with tumult and afiright ; 

Huts, canes, and shrubs, aloft in air are tM^rl'd; 

And cattle, madden' d with dismay and wonder. 

Wildly rebellow to the roaring thunder. 



THE HUKEICANE AND THE MENACE. 127 

The stream that lately held its gentle course, 
Swoll'n to a torrent, devastates the plain, 

Seizing and sweeping with resistless force, 
Men, trees, and oxen to the troubled main, 

Whose shores are strew'd with vessels wreck'd and broken. 

Of the storm's ravages a dismal token. 

Tost in the raging waves, mine eye explored 
One lab'ring ship, whose terror-stricken crew 

Had cut away her masts, and overboard 
Into the yawning deep her cargo tlirew; 

Though still the sea did but the fiercer wrestle. 

To swallow up the doomed and shattered vessel. 

Meanwhile, my looks I did not long withdraw 
From Silly Bingo, the purloining Black, 

Whose face depictured, as he heard and saw 
The dire destruction and the thunder-crack, 

A rapid change and struggle of sensations, 

Emblazon' d by the flashing coruscations. 



128 THE HURRICANE AND THE MENACE. 

Thinking at first that Jackson had let fly 
This hurricane, the robber to disquiet, 

He seem'd indignant, and I heard him cry — 
" Gog ! here's a hurly burly and a riot 

About a bag o' yams, not more dan twenty! — 

Why for you grumble, Massa? you got plenty." 

But when the sulph'rous bolt above his head 
Shatter'd the cedar-tree 'neath which he stood, 

Terror possess'd him, and he himibly said, 
With eyes upturn' d in supplicating mood, 

" Please Massa cloud, no more make such a clatter ! 

Bingo gib back de yams, — dat end de matter." 

Off to the brake reluctantly he stole. 

The plunder'd bag upon his shoulders took, 

Crept to the store-house, and replaced the whole, 
Retiirning past me wdth the scowling look 

Of hungry beasts, when they have been molested, 

And had their booty from theii- clutches wrested. 



THE HURRICANE AND THE MENACE. 129 

Clenching his fist as he the house drew near, 
This parting menace he pronounced aloud: 

" Now you remember, Massa Oberseer, 

Next time you send a great black nassy cloud. 

Out of his wits to frighten Silly Bingo, 

I'll throw a stone at it, — I will, by jingo!" 



VOL. ir. 



130 THE PLEASANT TETE-A-TETE. 



THE PLEASANT TETE-A-TETE. 

The Isle of Saint Eustatia, which the Dutch 
First colonized, was govern' d long ago — 

(I mean mis-govern" d) — by the Herr Van Gutch, 
As great a rogue as one would wish to Ivnow, 

WTio should, instead of ruling at Eustatia, 

Have shared a convict's fate in Australasia. 

No excellency could the knave pretend to. 
Save in his title, which the folks about him 

Lavish" d upon him as an innuendo, 

Ironically meant to mock and flout him ; 

For he had proved himself in every case 

Sordid, corrupt, extortionate, and base. 



THE PLEASANT TETE-A-TETE. 131 

Lord Bacon urged that when in bribes he did err, 
Justice, but not injustice, he had sold; 

Van Gutch sold either to the highest bidder: 
So that each criminal possess" d of gold 

Became, of course, more daring and more harden* d, 

Knowing beforehand that he should be- pardon' d. 

Our governor was in fact an island Pope, 
(But not, I ween. Pope Innocent or Pius,) 

Selling indulgences that gave full scope 
To him who foster' d any lawdess bias, 

To sear his conscience, so that nought should shock it, 

By purchased absolutions in his pocket. 

As he sat waiting for this odious traffic. 
Ready for hire to pardon or condemn, 

Smoking his pipe in vacancy seraphic, 

Twixt stupid sottishness and native phlegm, 

An Englishman, named Tate, made application 

To buy a pardon by anticipation. 
K 2 



132 THE PLEASANT TETE-A-TETE. 

" May "t please yoiu* Excellency," whisper'd Tate, 
" I want to horsewhip, kick, and clapper- claw 

A fellow that I hold in sj)ecial hate : 

But as the knave will doubtless take the law, 

I ^^'ish beforehand to enquire the pittance 

That I must pay to purchase an acquittance.'" — 

" That," said Van Gutch, " on circumstance must rest: 
Does the man merit such a deep disgrace?" — 

" Riclily ; he stands recorded and confess'd 
The most notorious scomidi-el in the place."' — 

" Nay, then, Til not be hard in my condition : 

I promise, for ten ducats, full remission." — 

*' Take them," said Tate, and thi-ew them on the table 
Then drew a whip prepared for the occasion. 

And laid it on as if he woidd disable 
His victim fi'om all further malversation, 

So thick a storm he raised of kicks and lashes, 

With curses, sandwich-like, between the slashes. 



THE PLEASANT TETE-A-TETE. 133 

Cried Tate, " Your Excellency 's the convicted 
And flagrant knave to whom I made allusion, 

And this unmeasured scoui'ging I've inflicted. 
Because your back claims lengthen' d retribution. 

There! — there's no harm done — all is honest barter: 

/'ve trimmed a scoundrel: — you have caught a Tartar."' 

This said, he bowed politely and departed; 

Hied to the shore, embark'd and hoisted sail; 
And in some half hour's space had fairly started 

From St. Eustatia with a fav'ring gale, 
Leaving the writhing Dutchman in a fluster 
Of anguish, rage, oaths, bullying, and bluster. 



134 A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 



A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 

If as pleasure you can rank it, 
To gaze at beauty through a blanket, 
Go where each lovely lake enshrouds 
Her charms behind a vale of clouds. 

Some of our summer tourists seek the Alps, 
Risking their own to climb the mountain scalps. 
And if they do not slip, and so 

Stick midway in some icy nook 
O'erhanging an abyss of snow; 
Or that no avalanche down-slides, 
Engulphing them and all their guides. 
They write a book, 



A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 135 

To shew the world what fools they've been, 
And tell the nothings they have seen. 



Others thei-e are who can't abide 

To glide and slide on a glacier's side, — 

When a trip or a slip may send them to dip, 

With a hop and a skip, 
In a bath of snow, where you taste the pleasuie 
Of dying by inches, and freezing at leisure. 
So, for their consciences' sakes. 

Eschewing such a clear self-slaughter, 
They substitute for moimtains, lakes, 

And ramble all on fire for water. 
Exploring every classic pond, 

From P6 to Naples, 
And doating on each muddy moat 
That boasts sufficient depth to float 
The ducks of some Italian Mrs. Bond. 

But if a brace of moping maples 



136 A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 

Or pining pines o'erhang the bank. 
Lord! how they laud the foetid tank; 
While, ten to one, some rhyming fool 
Writes stanzas to his "Peerless Pool!" 



Travellers we have much more John Bullish, 
Deeming each brother tourist foolish 

Who his country forsakes, 

To seek mountains and lakes, 
WQien he may get them ready made at home, 
And so to Westmoreland they roam, 
Thinking, with all their mights and mains, 
Of Southey's and of Wordsworth's strains, 
Of landscapes, picturesque and grand, 
And crags whose lines are never scann'd. 

They pierce into the clouds so far, — 
Of picnic parties, moonlight nights. 
Boat dinners, and the dear delights 

Of poetry and potted char ! 



A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 137 

Our lakes, it must be own'd, are pretty things, 
When one can see them, which is very seldom. 

For Pluvian Jupiter for ever wings 

His clouds above them, and Apollo flings 

His rays so rarely, one would think he held 'em 

Only for sabbaths, but that not e'en one day 

In a lake-week deserves the name of Sunday. 

Maugre this soaking of the scenery. 

Thither I went last Summer-^ime (not Summer), 

A greenhorn gazing for the greenery. 

And bent, like every undeceived new-comer. 

To rise by daylight and explore 

Lake, mountain, valley, tarn, and shore; 

With which most laudable intent. 
Having bespoken proper guides 
For walks and boatings, drives and rides, 
To bed I went. 

Up with the sun ! and so I might, 
If I had lain in bed till night! 



138 A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 

The morning came, at least the hour, 
But 'stead of light, a darkling shower, 
That seem'd as if it came to barter us 
For English weather that of Tartarus. 
Said I, a shower? Alas! the Lakes 
Know not the word; for when it takes 
A falling fit, the rain comes down 
As if it were resolved to di'own 
All it encounters here and there. 
Except the prison'd Tourist's care. 
"Tis not a storm that spits its spite, 
Then hurries ofi", and leaves the scene 
Enliven'd -with a brighter green, 
And sparkling in the rainbow light: 
No — 'tis a straight unceasing fall 
Of sullen, dogged, steady rain. 
Set in to last while you remain. 
Enshrouding lake, shore, mountain, all, 
In one impenetrable paU.— 



A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 139 

After some hours it would subside 

Into a drizzle drearier yet; 
For then th' impending clouds were spied, 
Like monstrous udders — spongy, wet, 

Flapping and flagging, 

Lagging and dragging 
Against the mountain sides, and spilling o'er 
Whate'er they touch' d their unexhausted store. 
None could admire such mists, except some scion 
Descended from old cloud-kissing Ixion. 
It might be thought the scullions of the sky 
Had had a washing-day on high. 
And hung theii- dish-clout clouds to drain, not dry; 

While Earth, in a muddle 

Of pool and of puddle. 
Assumed a most bedi-aggled, miry mien; 

Such slipping and slopping. 

And dripping and dropping, 
Save at the Lakes, was surely never seen. 



140 A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 

Even the ducks one saw the kennel sucking, 
Appear'd to quake at getting such a ducking, — 
And, floundering through the slough, each passing man 
Look'd like a sop in Earth's great dripping-pan. 
And yet in these diminish'd inundations, 
(There never were complete cessations,) 

My guides would quit 
The taps where they had been carousing. 
And try to tempt me to a sousing. 

'' It don't rain now, Sir, scarce a bit : 
We've mopp'd the boat, Jem Thwaites and me: 
And finer weather cannot be, 
After those hea^y showers and squalls. 
For seeing both the Waterfalls." — 
"Thank you, my friends," was my reply; 
"But as I've had from morn till eve, 
A cataract in either eye, 
I must be coucKd^ with your good leave." 
And this was done as soon as said, 
For off I hurried to my bed. 



A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 141 

" Doubtless, to-morrow 'twill give o'er," 
I whisper' d as I sank to rest; 

But when the morning stood confest. 
Zounds! it was wetter than before! 
The sky had now been used to pom-, 
And seem'd to do it with a zest; 
For the clouds spouted con amove. 
And the rain reign' d in all its glory. 
Oh! how I watched the window pane. 

Then gazed upon the blubb'ring gutter, 
Then read the Guide-book through again. 

And 'twixt my teeth began to mutter 
Curses upon this most abhorrent 
And personally spiteM torrent. — 
My execrations had no force, 
I could not dam it in its course : 
Nay, it began to flow the faster, 
As if to mock at my disaster. 



142 A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 

E'en the ehureh clock, that toll'd the hours. 

Appeared half-smother' d in the showers. 

So sullenly its muffled knell 

Boom'd through the hea^y air aromid. 

Sick of the wet and weary sound. 

In mere despair I rang the bell : — 

" Waiter !" said I, " d'ye think this weather 
Will long continue ?" — " No, Sir, no ; 
I shouldn't wonder in the least, 
If in a week or two it ceased, 

And gave us two fine days together! 
Some shifts of wind they sets it going. 
Others they sets it faster flowing. 
But stiU you know, Sir, there's no knowing.*' 
" Pleasant and shrewd ! But tell me pray, 

Have you no public show or sight 
To which a wretched tourist may 

Fly from Aquarius's spite?" 



A TOUR TO THE liAKES. 143 

" Oh yes, Sir, yes ; the gentlefolks 

Goes now and then to Mr. Noakes', 
Who has a show uncommon fine. 
Something in the Musemn line." — 

" Got a Museum, say you? That 's 
A sight I'll see, though Jove's decanter 

Pour cats and dogs, and dogs and cats. 
Which is the house? I'm off instanter." 
Behold me then, umbrella' d, booted. 

Great-coated, and envelop' d duly 
In triple wraps, — in fact just suited 

To face a Lake-ish day in July, 
Dabbling and waddling. 
Splashing and paddling, 
To the Museimi, where I found, 

A covey of amphibious peasants. 

Standing in Mr. Noakes' presence. 
With their dab-chicks all dripping round. 
And all their mouths and goggle eyes 
Wide open with profound surprise. 



144 A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 

" Ladies and gemmen," said the showTnan, 
Raising his magisterial wand, 
" You'll all be pleased to understand 
You mustn't chatter-mag, for no man 
Can tell his story out of hand, 
If, when he 's stating all liis factses, 
You bothers him and questions axes." 



" This here (it's number one) that's hung 
Those Ethiopian bii*ds among, 

Is an Owhyhee tomahawk." 

"Whew!" cries a crone, "It look, good laukl 

More like a handsaw nor a hawk. 
Bees that a hawk? — What say ye, Tommy ?'" 
" Naw that it baint, I'm certain, Mommy." 
"Silence!" commanded Mr. Noakes; 
" Please to attend to me, good folks. — 

This is a whinkam whankam wam, 
Or statue of the Goddess Isis. 



A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 145 

Brought from the Islands called the Sandwich; 
Because the natives are a band which 
Cut their war-prisoners into slices, 
As we do ham, 
And eat them with their bread and butter, 
A thing most horrible to utter! 
This here's their bludgeon as they uses 
In sea or land-fights as they chooses." — 

'• Why then," quoth I, " these savages 
Have got, to give our pride a rub, 
Their own United- Service Club." 

(" Pray, Sir, be silent if you please.") 



" This is the Indian calimiet, 

Or pipe of peace, the end on't's broken. "- 
" Call it," cried I, "by that same token, 
(When a new catalogue you get) 
A piece of pipe, not pipe of peace." — 
(" Pray, Sir, be silent if you please.") 

VOL. II. L 



146 A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 

" That animal is call'd up there, 

The gi-eat Ant-eater, from Bengal."— 
" Lauk!" screamed a child, "the horrid cretur! 
If he be such a great-aunt-eater. 

Do pray, Aunt PoUy, have a care, 

Or he may eat you crutch and all! 
So prythee, prythee, this way hobble, 
Lest he should gulp you at a gobble." — 
"La! Miss," cried Noakes, and blandly smiled; 

" He do look just like life, it's true, 
But don't be frightened, Uttle child! 

The beast's no more alive than you. — 



" These crooked horns were all imported 

Straight from Cape Horn; but how they call 

The beasts by whom they w^re supported, 
I never couldn't lam at all; 

And hope I needn't make apology 

For knowing nought of Homithology. 



A TOUE TO THE LAKES. 147 

This is a Chinese shoe that pinches 
A lady's foot within four inches; — 
Here's a rhinoceros's egg; — 
This drawing shows you a flea's leg: 
But whether 'tis the leg behind 
Or that before, I cannot find, 
Not being larned in phlebotomy. 
Nor over skilful in anatomy. — 
This finger in the bottle's one 

Of Edward the Black Prince's; — see! 
It's black as ink itself; — so none 

Can doubt its authenticity. — 
This is a Polecat from the Pole, 

Right underneath the great Equator; 
And this a Roman painted Bowl: 

How wondrous are the works of Natm-! — 
Here is a Lynx, whose fiery eyes 

Have caused us to call flambeaux links ; 

And a Chameleon, changing dyes 

At wiU, although it never drinks 
L 2 



148 A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 

Nor eats, except a sup of air ; — 

I can't say I should like such fare. — 



"Now please to open all your eyes; 
This rarest rarity of all, 
In the glass-case against the wall. 
Is Cromwell's head, my greatest prize. 
With vouchers giving true and full 
Proof that it is his genuine skull." — 
" Softly," cried I; "I've seen a head 
At Oxford, which is also said 

To have been Cromwell's, proved as such 
By all the certified contents 
Of most authentic documents. 
And that was larger, — larger much." — 
"What odds, if mine be summat less?" 
Ask'd Noakes; "this head that I'm a-showing. 
Might have been his, as any fool may guess, 
When he was small and hadn't done a-growing. 



A TOUK TO THE LAKES. 149 

Thus did he blunder through his task, 

While I maliciously would ask 

Questions of Noakes, intended to hoax, 

And turn into jokes, all he said to the folks, 

Who, pleased with what they heard and saw. 

Would burst into a broad Haw! haw! 

And say, "This chop's a queer one, ainfn?" — 

" Aw! he's a rare rum codger, baint'n?" 



The show, though not the rain, was o'er, 
Which still continued, pour, pour, pour: 
But wading on through thick and thin, 
I swam and fiounder'd to my inn. 
Dined, went to bed, and closed my eyes 
Amid the soothing lullabies 
Of rain bespattering, windows clattering, 
The spatter and sputter of every gutter. 
And all the sounds of liquid clamour 
That water on the ear can hammer. 



150 A TOUR TO THE LAKES. 

Next mom the same da capo strain 

Of everlasting rain, rain, rain. 

So leaving some more patient fool 
To wait till doomsday for fine days, 
I pack'd my luggage, call'd a chaise. 

And started back for Liverpool; 

While as they laid their heads together. 
The waiter to the ostler said, 
" Why what a flot this chap is, Ned, 

To coom to th' Lakes and hope to get fine weather!' 



AN EASY REMEDY. 151 



AN EASY REMEDY, 

An honest tailor, whose baptismal 

And patronymic appellations 
Were William Button, had a dismal 

Tendency to deep potations; 
And though, as he was over-mated, 
Like Jerry Sneak, our snip was fated 
In spite of all his hungry heavings. 
To drink the tea and coffee leavings, 
And eat cold mutton-flaps at dinner; 
Yet sometimes the rebellious sinner, 
Asserting his marital rights, 
Would on the wages-paying nights, 



152 AN EASY REMEDY. 

Betake him to the public-house. 
To smoke, and tipple, and carouse; 

And as Avith each new dram and sip he 
Still more and more pot-valiant grew, 
At last he fairly braved his spouse, 
Call'd her a vixen and a shrew, 
A Jezabel and a Xantippe! 

Returning home one night, our varlet 
Bold with his wife-compelling liquor, 
Hattled the knocker quick and quicker. 
When with fierce eye and face of scarlet 
His tender spouse appeared, and shrilly 
Vented reproaches on her Willy. 
" So, Jackanapes, you've come at last I 
No doubt the evening has been passed 
In tippling purl, you di'unken sot, 
MuU'd ale and amber, hot and hot; 
WhUe your poor wife is left to slave. 
And drink cold water from the can. 



AN EASY REMEDY. 153 

Cold water, ye remorseless knave!" 

" Cold!*' cried the husband, who began 
In turn to wrangle and to storm it, — 
" Cold! ye poor lazy slattern; — cold! 
Then why, ye good-for nothing scold. 
Why don't you warm it?" 



154 MADAME TALLEYRAND 



MADAME TALLEYRAND AND THE TRAVELLER. 

The famous Talleyrand, who knew 

The secret of avoiding execution, 
And kept his head upon his shoulders, thi-ough 

All the convulsions of the Revolution, 
When heads were cropp'd by the prevailing powers, 

Like cauliflowers, 
Till they themselves endured the keen 
Infliction of the GuiQotine, 
And made way for another faction. 
To undergo the same reaction : — 
This Talleyrand possessed a wife, 
Selected in his humbler life, — 



AND THE TRAVELLER. 155 

A rich bourgeoise of homely breeding, 
Neither has hleu, nor femme savante, 
But rather, as I freely grant, 

Deficient in her general reading. 

One day — 'twas when he stood elate. 
Napoleon's minister of state, — 
Having invited to his house 

Some literati to confer 

With a great foreign traveller. 
The husband thus addressed his spouse: — 

" My dear, at dinner you will meet 
A foreigner, a man of note. 
These authors like that you should quote 

From their own works; therefore, to greet 
Our guest, suppose you learn by rote 
A sentence here and there, that when 
He prates, like other travell'd men. 

Of his exploits on land and ocean. 
You may not be completely gravell'd, 



156 MADAME TALLEYRAND 

But have at least some little notion 
Of how, ^nd when, and where he travell'd. 
Take down his book, you'll find it yonder; 
Its dull contents you need not ponder; 

Read but the headings of the chapters, 
Refer to them with praise and wonder, 

And our vain guest will be in raptures," 



Madame resolved to play her part 
So as to win the stranger's heart. 
Studied the book; but far from dull. 
She found it quite delightful; — full 
Of marvellous adventures, fraught 
With perilous escapes, which wrought 
So deep an interest in her mind, 
She really was surprised to find, 
As to the dinner-room she tripp'd, 
How rapidly the time had slipp'd. 



AND THE TRAVELLER. 157 

The more to flatter and delight her, 

When at the board she took her place, 
The famous traveller and writer 

Was seated by her side; — the grace 
Was hardly said, or soup sent romid, 

'Ere with a shrug and a grimace, 
Eager to show her lore profound, 
A la Frangaise, she raised her eyes. 
And hands, and voice, in ectasies, — 
" Eh, Monsieur Robinson, mon Dieu, 
Voild un conte merveilleux! 
Ah, par exemple! it appals 

The mind to think of your attacks 
On those terrific cannibals, — 

Those horrid savages and blacks. 
Who, if they once had gained the upper 
Hand, had eaten you for supper, 
And so prevented your proceeding 
With that sweet book I've just been reading. 

Mais, quel honheur! to liberate 



158 MADAME TALLEYKAND AND THE TRAVELLER. 

Poor Friday from the murd'rous crew. 

And gain in your deserted state, 

So lonely and disconsolate 
A servant and companion too!" 

The visitants were aU astounded; 

The stranger stared aghast, dmnfounded; 

Poor TallejTand blushed red as flame, 

TiU having catechised the dame, 

The mystery was quickly clear" d ; 

The simple woman it appeared. 

Instead of the intended book 

In which she had been urged to look, 

From the same shelf contrived to take 

Robinson Crusoe by mistake! 



PROJECTS AND COMPANIES, 159 



PROJECTS AND COMPANIES. 



" Some were condensing air into a dry tangible substance by 
extracting the nitre, and letting the aqueous or fluid particles perco- 
late ; others softening marble for pillows and pincushions ; others 
petrifying the hoofs of a living horse to preserve them from 
foundering. ' ' — Gulliver's Travels. 



A Nation's wealth that overflows, 
Will sometimes in its course disclose 

Fantastical contortions : 
'Tis like the rising of the Nile, 
Which fats the soil, but breeds the while 

Strange monsters and abortions. 



160 PROJECTS AND COMPANIES. 

Better our superflux to waste 

On peaceful schemes, howe'er misplaced. 

Than war and its abuses; 
But better still if we could guide 
And limit the Pactolian tide, 

To salutary uses. 

Our sii'es, poor imambitious folks! 
Had but an individual hoax, 

A single South-sea bubble : 
Each province our delusion shares, 
From Poyais down to Buenos-Ayres, — 

To count them is a trouble. 

The gold that's sent out ready made 
To the new world, must be repaid 

By help of Watt and Boulton, 
Who from their mines, by aid of pumps, 
Will raise up ore, and lumps, and dimips. 

Whence sovereigns may be molten! 



PROJECTS AND COMPANIES. 161 

Others, not roaming quite so far. 
In stocks and bonds Peninsular, 

Find all their treasure vanish; 
Leaving a warning to the rash, 
That the best way to keep their cash, 

Is not to touch the Spanish. 

Gilded by Eldorado dreams, 

No wonder if our foreign schemes 

Assume a tint romantic ; 
But e'en at home, beneath our eyes, 
What ignes fatui arise, 

Extravagant and antic! 

Bridges of iron, stone, and wood. 
Not only, Thames, bestride thy flood, 

As if thou wert a runnel; 
But terraces must clog thy shore. 
While underneath thy bed we bore 

A subterranean timnel. 



VOL. II. 



162 PROJECTS AND COMPANIES. 

Now bursts a fiercer mania — all 
From every shire, the great, the small 

For Railroad shares are scrambling: 
Peers, paupers, countesses, their maids, 
With equal ardom- ply the trades 

Of jobbing, scheming, gambling. 

Decoy'd by projects wild and rash, 
Some find their rail-devoted cash 

Is lost beyond retrieval; 
Others, who profitably sold, 
Will tell you that the age of gold 

And ii'on are coeval. 

With each new moon new bubbles rise, 
Each, as it flits before our eyes, 

Its predecessor smashing; 
All at then- rivals fi*eely throw 
Their dirt, to which we doubtless owe 

The Company for washing. 



PBOJECTS AND COMPANIES. 163 

These are but weeds; the rich manure 
Of overflowing wealth is sure 

To generate the thistle: — 
They who would learn its nobler use, 
May Pope's majestic lines peruse 

That close his Fourth Epistle. 



M 2 



164 ELEGY. 



ELEGY. 

TO THE MEMORY OF MISS EMILY KAY, COUSIN TO MISS ELLEN 
GEE, OF KEW, WHO DIED LATELY AT EWELL, AND WAS 
BURIED IN ESSEX. 

" They fool me to the top of my bent." — Shakespear. 

Sad nymphs of U L, U have much to cry for, 
Sweet M L E K U never more shall C! 

O S X maids! come hither and D, o, 
With tearftd I, this M T L E G. 

Without X S she did X L alway, 

Ah me ! it truly vexes 1 2 C, 
How soon so D R a creature may D K, 

And only leave behind X U V EI 



ELEGY. 165 

Whate'er 1 to do she did discharge, 
So that an N M E it might N D R: 

Then why an S A write? — then why N 
Or with my briny tears B D U her B R? 

When her Piano-40 she did press, 

Such heavenly somids did M N 8, that she 

Knowing her Q, soon 1 U 2 confess 
Her X L N C in an X T C. 

Her hair was soft as silk, not Y R E, 
It gave no Q, nor yet 2 P to \4ew: 

She was not handsome : shall I tell U Y ? 
U R 2 know her I was all S Q. 

L 8 she was, and pmttling like a J; 

How little, M L E! did you 4 C, 
The grave should soon M U U, cold as clay. 

And you should cease to be an N T T ! 



166 • ELEGY. 

While taking T at Q \\ith L N G, 
The M T grate she rose to put a : 

Her clothes caught fire — no 1 again shall see 
Poor M L E; who now is dead as Solon. 

O L N G! in vain you set at 

G II and reproach for suffering her 2 B 

Thus sacrificed; to J L U should be brought, 
Or burnt U02BinFEG. 

Sweet M L E K into S X they bore, 
Taking good care the monument 2 Y 10, 

And as her tomb was much 2 low B 4, 

They lately brought firesh bricks the walls to 10. 
(heighten.) 



Pitt's bon-mot. 167 



PITT'S BON-MOT. 



Though William Pitt (nick-named the Tory 
In Morris's facetious story,) 
Retains the honours of his name 

As a Debates-man, 
Who in the House of Commons, " ore 
Uotundo^ cried up England's glory, 

Yet as a statesman, 
Or as a financier, his fame 
May be compared to his own sinking fund, 
Which, if not quite extinct, is moribund. 



168 PlirS BON-MOT. 

Seeing this heaven-born minister's renown 

In his political capacity, 
Thus tumbling down, 

An instance of his smart dicacity 
Ought in "justice to be stated, 

In order that the reader may bestow 
Due praise on the defunct for a hon-mot, 

The only one he ever perpetrated. 

When the French threaten'd in flat-bottom'd boats, 

To come and cut our throats, 
Pitt — then Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports — held 

A meeting in the town of Dover, 

To settle, should the French come over, 
How they might best and soonest be repeU'd; 

Which said assemblage, being fierce and loyal. 
Declared that England might discard her fears. 

For they themselves would promise to destroy all 
The French, if they might form a corps, the Mayor 
To be commander, and the whole to bear 
The name of Royal Dover Volunteers. 



Pitt's bon-mot. 169 

The Premier, when the cheering ceased, 

Smiled, for he knew the dictum true, 
That greatest boasters do the least, 
And whisper'd to himself— -" The Dover traders 

Are most insufferable gasconaders; 

If any folks deserve an innuendo, 
By way of a rebuke, I'm sure these men do." 

However no remark was made. 
Until the secretary reading o'er 
The rules and regulations of the corps. 

Broke off, and to the chairman said, 

" Sir, I respectively submit 

That it were weU on this occasion, 
Among our standing rules and laws. 
To insert the customary clause, 
Not to serve out of England.'' — " Yes," said Pitt, 

" Except in case of an invasion /" 



170 HOBBS AND DOBBS. 



HOBBS AND DOBBS. 

Adrian. — *' Your jest is somewhat of the oldest, Master Giles." 
Giles. — " Hush! do you think I would offer a new joke, any more 
than new wine, to your Worship?" — The Unknown. 

Love in a village, where the parties revel 
In all the neighbourly civility 
Of cheerful, social amiability, 

Is vastly pleasant; 
But hatred in a village is the devil! 

Because each peasant 
Is ever meeting in that narrow circle. 
The very man on whom he longs to work ill. 
How sad the pity that our heau ideal 

Is never real; — 



HOBBS AND DOBBS- 171 

That envy, hatred, jealousy, and malice, 

Should hold their chalice 
Up to the lips of rustics, who were meant 
By Nature to be innocent, 
And harmless as the household dove. 
That type of love ! 

After this pretty bit of flummery, 

Or moral sentimental proem, 

(An apt exordium to my poem,) 
I must be quick, concise, and summary, 
And without any more preparative, 
Commence my narrative. 

At Oakley, in the Western Riding 

Of Yorkshire, were two men residing. 

Named Hobbs and Dobbs, whose constant quarrels, 

Springing from rivaby in trade, 

A sort of village warfare made, 
Which sadly spoilt the people's morals, 



172 HOBBS AND DOBBS. 

Splitting them into furious factions, 
Some warmly advocating Hobbs, 
^Vhile others, both by words and actions. 

Supported Dobbs. 
And yet these foolish fellows ought 

In their two leaders to have found 
Men of strong imderstanding, taught 

With friendly stitches, 
To patch up, not occasion breaches. 

And mend the soles of all the rustics roimd, 
For they were both shoemakers, and their labours 

Should have been circumscribed to putting 
Their friends, and customers, and neighbours, 
On a good footing. 



They lived, unfortunately, vis-d-vis, 

And soon began the work of emulation, 
By flaming shopboards, where in gilt 
And lacker' d lustre, you might see 



HOBBS AND DOBBS. 173 

The symbols of their occupation, 
Much jDaint in blue and crimson being spilt, 
That each might be more splendid than the other, 
And win all custom from his baffl'd brother, 

Hobbs, who had somehow given handle 
For undeserved reproach and scandal, 

When he new-dizen'd out his board. 
Wrote at its foot this Latin scrap — 

"Mens conscia recti,'' which he took 

From some heraldic motto-book, 
Meaning thereby to have a slap 

At his maligners, and afford 
Proof that his path he still pursued. 
Strong in a conscious rectitude. 

This was a soiu-ce of en\dous dolour 
To Dobbs, who, in his first confusion. 

Knowing his rival was no scholar, 
Deduced the natural conclusion 



174 HOBBS AND DOBBS. 

That ''conscia recti'' doubtless meant 
Some article of trade, perchance, 
Some fashion just arrived from France, 

And being resolutely bent 

His hated rival to eclipse. 

He sent forthwith for Mr. Cripps, 
Painter and glazier, 
When thus ejaculated Dobbs — 

" Paint me a still more flaming board. 
Of green, and gold, and azure ; 

What! do you think I can't afford 
To pay for it as well as Hobbs ? 

Be these French kickshaws what they will, 

I am resolved to beat him still, 
To which effect I 

Desire you'll print in gold at bottom, 

(That folks may fancy I have got" em,) 
Men's AND women's conscia recti!'' 



MONSIEUR LE BKUN. 175 



MONSIEUR LE BRUN. 



Monsieur le Brun (who must not be confused 

With the great painter) jointly cultivated 
Apollo's laurel and the grape of Bacchus, 

And into mediocre verse translated, 
Or rather, as the French would say, traduced 

The odes of Flaccus. 
The work, I must confess, was badly done, 

For poor Le Brun, 
Still scribbling, and unable still to win 

A living for himself and wife, 
Was like a rope-maker, condemned to spin 

Long lines, yet still go backward all his life. 



176 MONSIEUR LE BRUJJ-. 

Le Brun asserted that an author loses ^ 

By quaffing >\dth the water- drinking Muses, 

Wherefore he held in small aecomit 
Castalia's fount, 

And not a solitary sip he 

Ever quaffed from Aganippe, 
Maintaining that champagne and other wine, 

With, now and then, a draught of liquor. 

Produced an inspiration quicker, 
As well as more delightful and divine. — 
If to his cups his couplets he had suited, 

They must have sparkl'd — and 'tis strange to mc. 
That want of life should ever be imputed 

To poetry inspired by eau-de-vie. 

But so it was — his poems, every one. 

Were like a flintless gun, 
Which won't go off" for want of fii'e ; 
And poor Le Brun who took to deeper di'inking 

Instead of thinking, 



MONSIEtJR LE BRUN. 177 

Sunk daily deeper in oblivion's mire. 
While swallowing compound spirits, still the faster 

He lost his own, till he became a prey 
To hypochondria; and one disaster 

Another following, his health gave way. 
His stomach, it was said, had lost its coat, 

Or thrown it off, perhaps, from being hot, 

For his old trick he never had forgot, 
Of pouring ardent spirits down his throat; 

Which daily system of potation 
Most deleterious, 

Brought fever first, then inflammation, 
When his poor wife, so much his aspect shock' d her, 
CaU'd in the doctor, 

And now the case grew serious. 

Bolus, a man of fees, not feeling. 
Finding his purse was low, though high his fever, 

Bolted, but sent a priest, who, kneeling, 
Thus comforted the bibulous believer, — ■ 

VOL. II. N 



178 MONSIEUR LE BRUN. 

" My son, 'tis clear you have not long to live, 
So you must quickly use this unction, 
Confess youi' sins with due compunction, 

And freely all your enemies forgive— 
Bestowing on them, if they're nigh. 
The kiss of peace before you die !" 

" Kiss what I hated most — my deadliest foes ! 
Surely, good father, you impose 

A penance too revolting to be just, 
'Tis ten times worse than fasts, hair shirts, and whips ; 

However, if I must, I must; 
So put a glass of water to my lips!" 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 179 



POETICAL EPISTLE, 

From Amos Stokes, Esa., of Nashville, United States, to 

Washington Nokes, Esq., of Liverpool, commencing 

the Account of a very remarkable Aerial 

Voyage made in the grand 

Kentucky Balloon. 



In ordinary times and moods, dear Nokes, 
You might for centuries have had to whistle, 

*Ere I, the plain prosaic Amos Stokes, 
Should send you a poetical epistle : 

But the muse sometimes visits solemn folks, 
As a flower blossoms even on the thistle, 

And mine's a theme so startling and subHme, 

That it affords good reason for my rhyme. — 



N 2 



180 FOETicAL :epistle. 

I have been far above the clouds, — and seen 
Sights unreveal'd before to mortal eye! 

You know that merry madcap, HaiTy Green, — - 
Well — he persuaded Ebenezer Guy, 

A Latin usher — solemn, long, and lean. 

Whose talk was pompous, polyglot, and dry. 

And your unlucky friend — (a witless wight!) 

In Hudson's grand balloon to take a flight. 



Hudson — ^long practised in balloons, was meant 
To steer our bark, and manage every part; 

In fact, all fom- were seated — all intent 
On making quickly an auspicious start. 

When, leaning to untie the rope, too far, 

Our clumsy pilot tumbled from the car! 



POETICAL EPISTIiE. 181 

As Hudson was a heavy man, of course 

The loss of his preponderating weight, 
Made the machine start upwards with a force 

As if a whizzing rocket went elate. 
So instantaneous was our earth-divorce, 

We had no time the crowd to calculate, 
Or note their shouts, fast dwindling to a hum, 
WTien the whole scene grew indistinct and dumb. 



E'en I, dear Nokes, an unreflecting wight, 
Felt an awe-stricken, and a solemn mood, 

In being sever'd from the world outright, 
And floating upwards thro' th' infinitude 

Of space; as if, while blessed with life and light, 
A sort of dissolution had accrued. 

And I had bid a last adieu to earth. 

To find, in some new sphere, a second birth. 



182 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Is that dim mass, methought, obscured with clouds. 

Looming below, a doubtful vapoury form, — 
Is that our planet, with its countless clouds, — 

Its nations, empires, cities? Is the storm 
Of vice and passion that man's heart enshrouds, 

ITie virtues that the female bosom warm, 
Thrilling and throbbing in that little sphere: 
Oh! what an ant-hiU does the whole appear! 



And other planets, throng'd like ours, perchance, 
With beings that seem only bom to die; 

Why do they weave their rotatory dance. 
Like gnats disporting in a summer sky? 

Why do they fill the limitless expanse 
With sepulchres that whirl eternally 

Around the central fount of life and light, 

What was their dawning — ^when will be their night r 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 183 

While thoughts like these were flashing through my mind 
With Hghtning speed, adapted to our motion. 

My comrade, Harry Green, remain'd resign'd 
To a convulsive laughter, at the notion 

Of the fat sprawler whom we left behind, 

Till, having wiped the tears that made a lotion 

For either cheek, he cried " I can't forget 

Hudson's own wonder at his somerset." 



" Had he been with us, our retarded flight, 
If we could fly at all — a doubtful case, — 

Had been no higher than an urchin's kite. 
Or eagle, towering in its pride of place ; 

And never had we known the keen delight 
Of soaring thus triumphantly through space, 

And looking, every moment as we climb, 

Down on the earth with feelings more sublime.' 



184 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

" Da you remember, Guy, the well-known joke 
Of singing Dignum at a public dinner, 

Who, slicing from the pudding, at one stroke, 
A mass that left it some thi-ee quarters thinner, 
Said, as he moved the dish — 'some pudding, Skinner r 

* Which,' replied Skinner, as his glances sti*ay 

From plate to dish, 'which is the pudding, pray?'" 



"So I, while gazing on the sphere below. 
And that above, which, like a silken moon. 

Sustains our car, am half in doubt to know 
Which is the Earth, and which is the balloon. 

How beautiful is this celestial show! 
Methinks it were an enviable boon 

Ne'er to revisit Earth, but in the sky, 

Amid these glorious scenes, to live and die." 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 185 

" There's little doubt about the last," replied 
The hollow voice of Guy, who liitherto, 

While as with fear transfix'd, he sternly eyed 
The mass above him, e\ddently drew 

Grim auguries he did not seek to hide; — 

" Prepare for death — ^you've nothing else .to do — 

Giving false hopes I'll not be a colleague at. 

For duhiam qui dat salutem, negat. 



" An endless holiday my school will have, — 
I never more shall wield the birch or cane; 

No human agency our lives can save, 
In this accursed car must we remain. 

Until it proves — as soon it will — our grave. 
Our fate is manifest, — the case is plain, — 

I wouldn't hurt your feelings, — never mind. 

Mors omnibus communis, — Tm resign'd." 



186 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

As his affi'ighted looks the boast belied, 
We called upon hini for an explanation; 

When, in the same sepulchi'al voice, he sigh'd— 
" As Hudson tumbled, in his agitation 

He caught the string that to the valve is tied, 
And snapp'd it off — so that no operation 

Can now let off the gas, and we must rise 

Till cold or famine kill us in the skies!" — 



" Nonsense," cried Harry Green, — who lovd his joke. 

Bad as it might be, better than his friend, — 
*' While we thus soar (excuse the equivoque) 

Into the grave we cannot well descend." — 
*' So much the worse," with melancholy croak. 

Responded Guy, "we shall not in our end 
Have even decent burial, but be cast to 
And fro in air — nantes in gurgite vasto, — 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 187 

Until the flesh is wasted from our bones, 
(Dying of famine, that will soon be done!) 

When for unnumber'd years om* skeletons, 

Floating in space, may reach at last some zone. 

Or sphere remote, whose geologic sons, 

In a glass case may have us clapp'd, and shown 

As fossils of the air — quis talia fando — 

But I'll not weep — Foriunce omnia mando.'' 



At first I thought by climbing up some rope. 
That we might cut the silk or tear a rent, 

So as to let th' imprison' d gas elope; 
But after each had tried th' experiment. 

In climbings nmnberless, we lost aU hope. 
For none by grappling made the least ascent; 

The car hung low, — ^the cords were small, — and we 

Had ne'er since boyhood even climbed a tree. 



188 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Little supposing, when we first went up, 

That we should spend the morning in the sky 

Still less that we should want to dine or sup, 
We ne'er had dreamt of taking a supply ; — 

Of liquids we had not a single cup, 
Nor would our solids bear a scrutiny, 

Consisting of a quince-cake, small enough, 

Three pears, two apples, and a penny pufi*. — 



"We're stimip'd, I fear," said Harry Green, whose mood 
Changed with his grave and lengthen' d countenance; 

" But our first duty is to share the food, 
So as to give to each an equal chance. 

The puff and quince-cake must not now be chew'd. 
The pears are thi-ee, a lucky circumstance; 

The apple-sharing I myself will see to. 

There's one for you two, and there's one for me too." 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 189 

At first I thought this trite and sony jest 
Was merely ftm, until he ate the prize, 

When Guy and I our discontent express' d, 
Whereat he said decisively — " Be wise, 

Discard all thoughts of quarrel from your- breast. 
If we fall out we're dash'd to atomies. — '" 

" Humph, a high joke," quoth Guy; "you little ween, 

Hi joci in seria ducunt — Mr. Green." 



In fact we all look'd serious as he spoke, 
Eyeing each other with distrust and fear, 

And none of us the sulky silence broke, 

For now the sun was setting — night drew near— 

None had an extra Macintosh or cloak. 
And the cold gi-ew so nipping and severe, 

That though no single syllable we said. 

Our teeth began to chatter in our head. 



190 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

The cold augmented as we soar'd more high, 

But this, though most distressing, would not bear 

Comparison mth the sharp agony 
Caused by the rarefaction of the air. 

We gasp'd for breath as if about to die, 
As fishes on diy land pant, gulp, and stare. 

And swell' d as if our blood and bones were thirsting 

To leave the body by a general bursting. 



This must have been our dismal fate, indeed. 
But that our noses, in a copious stream. 

At the same moment all began to bleed, 

Which gave us ease — your ministers may deem 

The pressm-e from without a bore — agreed I 
That from within is a far worse extreme. 

When your exterior seems all turn'd about. 

And your inside is struggling to get out. 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 191 

Up in that keen attenuated air, 

Th' evaporation is so great and swift, 

That we ab-eady withered, as it were: — 

Our parch'd and rattling tongues we could not lift, 

« 

Our eyes were solder' d up — no tears were there; 

And when that sether rare we breath'd or snifF'd, 
Our stomach's region, and brain's pia mater. 
Felt twice as dry as a limeburner's gaiter. 



The silence, too, so thrillingly intense, 
Caused a fresh pain : dilated and acute, 

Our ears ached piercingly, because their sense 

Could catch no sound — all, all was hush'd and mute 

While now the darkness most profound and dense, 
Might half persuade us Death had won his suit. 

And struck us all, but that by fits and starts^ 

We heard the feeble beating of our hearts. 



192 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Oh ! there's an awfiihiess most dread and deep 
In piercing thus night's topmost atmosphere. 

And feeling that, however fast you sweep, 
You never need look out a-head for fear 

Of running foul of others, since you keep 
A com'se that none have ever dared to steer. 

And have aU space before you, all your own, 

E'en to the wide creation's widest zone. 



But what ! — methought, if like om* planet, space— 
Holds some vast desert, — some Zahara dark. 

Where the Creator's hand has left no trace, 
A primal chaos, never cheer" d by spark 

Of sun or moon, and that our airy chase 
Should finish by delivering our bark 

Into that limbo, and so leave us fated, 

'Mid nothingness to be annihilated! 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 193 

From this appalling reverie I woke, 

By seeing in the blazing skies afar, 
A fearful storm, which suddenly outbroke 

In the full rage of elemental war. 
Amid whose lightning flash and lurid smoke, 

Diminish'd earth, no bigger than oui' car, 
Seem'd to sustain a contest most mieven, 
With all the di*ead artillery of heaven. 



Tremendous must have been the thunder's peal. 
But not the faintest mui'mur reach' d mine ear, 

A fact, dear Nokes, which will alone reveal 

Our measureless remoteness from earth's sphere. 

As the storm died away I seem'd to feel 

The darkness that retm^n'd more deep and drear, 

And nought disturb' d the silence of the sky. 

Save the mix'd snores and mutterings of Guy. 

VOL. II. o 



194 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Mumbling his prayers, and dreaming that he heard 
His boys their Greek and Latin tasks repeat, 

I caught this galimatias absurd: — 

'' Amo, amas — a daetyle has three feet — 

Gods will be done! — that's not a Latin word — 
Tupto-ttcpteis, means — verbero, to beat ;" 

And then he murmured in a tone more drowsy, 

" Amen ! — good night, — tuptomen, — ^boy, — tuptousi.'" 



Harry, meanwhile, as if he strove no more 
With adverse fate, began to nod his head. 

And soon set up a comfortable snore. 

Like him who, when his bark resistless sped 

Towrds dread Niagara's engulphing roar, 

Threw down his oar, liis cloak above him spread, 

Stretch' d out his legs, composed himself to sleep, 

And thus perform'd his last tremendous leap. 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 195 

Our plight, in sooth, was much the same as his. 
Save that our vortex was a stream of air, 

Which hurried us to some imknown abyss; — 
And yet, perhaps, we better might compare 

Our danger with Mazeppa's wretchedness, 

For our wild steed no curb or check would bear, 

And if he woidd, to dream of it were idle, 

For in the valve-string we had lost the bridle. 



/ could not sleep; for, tlii-ough the darkness dense 

That hitherto had compassed us about, 
In beautiful and bright magnificence, 

The constellations, signs, and stars shone out, 
Like monarchs stepping from their thrones; my sense 

Ached at their flashing crowns, which made me doubt 
Whether they were the same whose duller glories 
I had oft mark'd from Earth's observatories. 



o 2 



196 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

At length, when all unconscious of the lapse, 
I sunk into a short and broken rest, 

It was this \ision doubtless — (though perhaps, 
Mazeppa's horse occasioned half the pest) — 

That brought, 'midst many painful after-claps, 
The nightmare to bestride my lab'ring breast; 

And conjm'cd up, out of this heavenly glory, a 

Most diabolical phantasmagoria. 



ITie Zodiac's monsters and celestial signs 
Seem'd to take li\4ng bodies, near and far: 

Their arms they snatch'd, and quitting their confines. 
Cried "Havoc! and let slip the dogs of war." 

The ti*umpet's clang rang loud along their lines ; 
Wliile shouted fiercely every sign and star, — 

" Sacrilege, sacrilege ! destroy — o'erwhelm 

The impious wretches that invade our realm l"' 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 197 

The roaring Lion, rushing from his lair. 

Lifted his paw, and bared his snarling teeth; 

Up, with a growl appalling, sprang the Bear; 
The hissing Serpent, darting from his ^\Teath, 

Transfix' d me with his eyeball's fiery glare ; 
And all the forms I saw — (I'm here beneath 

The mark) — were ten times bigger, every one, 

Than Doctor MantelFs famed Iguanadon. 



The Scorpion huge, his shudd'ring prey to reach. 
Stretch' d out his bristKng claws; the Hydra rear'd 

His furious heads, each horrider than each; 
Orion with his cries the Dog-star cheer'd ; 

The Twins (not Siamese) with horrid screech, 
Urg'd on the Crab and Lizard; all appear'd 

Eager and rampant for the sign when ail, 

With ravening rage, upon their prey might fall. 



198 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

It was not long delay" d. From out her chair 

Cassiopeia rose, and shouted " On ! " 
Twang! went the Archer's bow, and through the air 
Claws, teeth, horns, hoofs, and weapons fell upon 
Oui* wretched trio; while the startled zone 
Still more our 'wilder'd faculties to scare. 
With roaring, growling, grunting, hissing rang. 
The clash of cymbals, and the clarion's clang- 



Roused by this charivari, when I woke. 
Shivering and stupified with cold and fear. 

The baseless fabric of the vision broke, 
And all again was silent, dark, and drear. 

Except when Guy, in mingled mutterings spoke. 
Or Harry's hea\'y snorings met mine ear. 

So pass'd the night; — ^but oh! with morning's beam. 

The real sight was ghastlier than my dream! — 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 199 

Gaunt — stiflPen'd — ^pale — desiccated — adust — 

Our clothes and faces in a gory smear 
With oui' nose-blood, — our stony eyes out-thrust, 

Striving in vain to shed the frozen tear; 
Harrow'd with horror, sicken'd with disgust, 

Our teeth's sharp chatter aU that met our ear, — 
We looked like corpses, or three dismal dummies, 
Hung up to dry till we shoidd turn to mummies. 



How long we thus remain' d transfix' d and mute, 
I cannot tell — perhaps an hour or more, 

TiU, pinch' d with hunger, I drew out the fruit 
Which I had pocketed the night before; 

So did my friends, all eating with such brute 
Voracity, that breakfast soon was o'er, 

Tho' every pear was large and full of juice — (it's 

The sort that here is called the Massachusets.) 



200 • POETICAL EPISTLE. 

O Nokes! how suddenly our frame derives 

Fresh vigoui', sometimes fi-om the scantiest meal ! 

Our moisten'd tongues threw quickly off their gyves. 
And as his mood relax'd fr'om woe to weal, 

Cried Hal, "We draw, (to judge by what I feel,) 
From the first pear a second time om- lives ! "' 

Whereat Guy, frowning, said, " Don't talk at random, 

Ne lude sacris, Mr. Green — nefandum f' 



Alas! our subsequent and dire distress 
Was but augmented by this short relief. 

For hunger's gnaw4ngs and cold's bitterness 

Returned with tenfold sharpness; but our chief 

Torment was thirst, increased by the excess 
Of diyness in the atmosphere; — in brief 

I stated, that if others felt as I did, 

I thought our quince-cake ought to be divided. 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 201 

'' Quince-cake !" laughed Harry, with a look of honhommie, 
" To tell the truth, I swallowed it last night 

From pure and abstract motives of economy, 
Fearing it might evaporate outright; 

But some concession you have fairly won o'me, 
So of the penny puff I waive my bite." 

" Sir ! " mutter' d Guy, " I hate and I despise you. 

Thus hlando fraudem pretexere risu.'' 



To guai'd against th' extension of this code 
So treacherous and base, myself and Guy 

Shared the small puff — no very heavy load 
For stomachs yearning with inanity; 

And now, in our most desolate abode, 

Was left no drop — no mouthful of supply,. 

Whatever crib or cruise we might examine^ 

To save us from th' extremity of famine. 



202 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Our woes to aggravate, we found, alas! 

That when the outsvard pressure was reduced, 
In its endeavours to escape, the gas 

Thro' the stretch'd silk had gradually oozed, 
Until the whole machine's suspended mass, 

Balanced in equilibrio, refused 
To rise or fall ; affording us the pleasui'e 
To starve, or freeze, or wither up at leisure. 



" Ha ! " suddenly cried Hal, " I've foimd a way. 
By which we aU may shun our threaten'd fate." — 

" What is it ?" we together cried, — " Oh say ! " — 
"• You may jump out," drawled Harry ; " I, elate. 

Then to some higher habitat may stray, 
While you a starving death will evitate." 

Quoth Guy, — " You should have left these jests, jam- 
dudum, 

Nee litsisse pudet, sed non incidere ludum.''^ 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 203 

" "Tis our sole chance," quoth Hal, " for our career. 
When lightened thus, will doubtless recommence, 

And we may soar until some higher sphere 
Bring us within attraction's influence — 

Some peopl'd globe, where hospitable cheer 
May welcome us with glad benevolence : 

Heaven grant that we may find, for our revival, 

A smoking dinner waiting oui* arrival." 



His low' ring looks soon darken' d to a stern 
And fell expression that confirm'd his speech: 

And thus we sate in silence, each in turn 
Eyeing his comrade with misgiving — each 

Holding dark counsel with his thoughts, to learn 
How he might save himself — and overreach 

His friends, so lawless in its operation 

Is that remorseless law — Self-preservation. 



204 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Heavy and slowly di-agg'd the di-eary day, 
Oui' bosoms rankling -with a fiercer ire, 

As the light ominously died away, 

And thirst and cold and hunger grew more dire. 

I hoped some rain or dew-drops might allay 
Our raging thirst's insatiable fire; 

But in those altitudes, dear Nokes, there 's neither 

Rain-drops nor dew to damp the parching ether. 



What horrid thoughts of violence and crime 
Haunted my comrades in the dead of night, 

I know not; but the De^il at one time 

Urged me to grapple Green with all my might. 

And throw him out; but Hal was in his prime, 
And, waking, might on me bestow the flight 

I meant for him. Guy was awake, poor elf! 

So Satan whisper' d me — ^throw out thyself! 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 205 

These temptings I resisted, Heaven be praised I 
And bore my torments till the break of morn, 

When Harry as his heavy eyes he raised, 

And marked our looks grim, haggard, and forlorn, 

Cried — "Gentlemen^ you surely must be crazed, 
To tliink these pangs much longer can be borne, 

We'll wait till sunset, then draw lots to know 

Which of the party overboard must go." 



" But it were well (the hint I ventui*e here 
Is offered to your joint consideration) 

If one of you would kindly volunteer 
To act the Curtius on this sad occasion, 

By leaping in the gulph — a fate, 'tis clear. 
Better than vi et armis jactitation, 

And as you're oldest, Guy, I tell you plump, 

'Tis your's to make the sacrificial jump. 



206 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

"Mine!" cried the pedagogue, with angry sneer, 
" In your o^vn idle vein to give reply, 

I might maintain that as I'm tallest here. 
And we are doomed to die by inches — I 

Must perish last; — besides, your loose career 
Has prematurely destined you to die. 

Against all suicide I make disclaimer, 

Quocunque trahaiit fata nos sequamicr, — 



" Moreover, I've a nephew fuU of glee. 
Yet fonder still of learning than of frolics. 

For all his Latin who depends on me, 
And has begun translating his Bucolics: 

On his account I wish my life to be 

A little lengthen' d — not of course too prolix; — 

At thought of leaving him my very gorge aches. 

At least— before he gets into his Georgics." 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 207 

" Well then," said Green, " you, Stokes, will not pretend 
That you have niece or nephew — what say you? 

Will you jump overboard to save a friend?" 
"I would," said I, "but I've a cousin who 

Is giddy — ^young — wants watching, or he'll spend 
His cash too fast. Oh Harry! if you knew 

My cousin Tom, I ne'er had been expected 

To leave him cousinless and unprotected." 



" As for myself, I own," said Green, and smiled, 
" That I am free from every social clog. 

Have neither kith nor kindred, chick nor child. 

But I've a poodle puppy — such a dog! 

He, too, depends on me — is yomig and wild. 
And from his home might wander in a fog: 

You're Christians, gentlemen! — have hearts — 'Confess 

You would not leave that poodle masterless!" 



208 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

The voluntary principle, we saw, 
Had no supporters in our coterie. 

So we resolved, at sunset, lots to draw, 
And sacrifice one -v-ictim of the three. 

Thus sat we grim and silent, cold and raw, 
Two destined murderers and one mui'deree: 

Eyeing each other, all that day of fate, 

With scowls most savage, fell, and desperate, 



As the watch'd sun went down — (it was the last 
Sunset that one of us was doom'd to view) — 

An ominous and baleful glance it cast 

On our most ghastly and sepulchral crew: 

Our senses swam — our hearts beat loud and fast, 
And more convulsively our gasps we drew, 

Clenching our teeth and drawing in our breath. 

As Green prepared the paper lots of death. 



POETICAL EPISTLE. 209 

There was a leering devil in his eye, — 

A look of cruelty and craft combined, 
Which satisfied me that some treachery 

Lm-ked in his bosom. My misgiving mind 
Whisper* d that if he di-ew the lot to die, 

Some fraudulent evasion he would find, 
Or might, in desperation's last resource, 
Throw overboard myself or Guy by force. 



Resolved to see fair play, and sell my life 

As dearly as I could, if thus defied, 
I kept my hand upon a large clasp-knife 

In my coat pocket, while I gave, aside, 
A friendly wink to Guy, in whom the strife 

Of hope and fear was potent as he cried, 
"My pangs can't last, one plunge and I shall lose 'em 
In space profound — profundo — profudi — profusum P 

VOL. II. F 



210 POETICAL EPISTLE. 

* 

"The hour is come!" croaked Green, and well we knew 
\^^lat was to follow that appalling text, 

"Thehoui* is come!'' — Adzooks! that's very true, 
'Tis twelve — the Packet sails at one — I'm vex'd 

To break off here, dear Nokes! — in haste, adieu! 
Allow me to refer you to my next, 

"Which will contain a fidl and true relation 

Of what next happen' d in our aerostation. 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 211 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 

From Amos Stokes, Esa., of Nashville, United States, to 
Washington Nokes, Esq., of Liverpool, contain- 
ing THE Account of the very remarkable 
Ascent made in Mr. Hudson's 
Grand Kentucky Balloon. 

My last, dear Nokes, convey'd a full account 
Of our most desperate and horrid plight. 

When, to compel our poised balloon to mount 
By rendering it more volatile and light, 

So that we might approach some stellar fount, 

And quench om* raging thirst — we deem"d it right 

To fix, by drawing lots of paper, 

^^^lich of our trio overboard should caper. 



p2 



212 SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE 

One after one Green placed them on his pahn, 
And was about to close his hand, when lo ! 

Although it hitherto had been dead calm, 

A gust of wind snatch' d up those types of woe. 

And whisk'd them out of sight. Hope's sudden balm 
Gave to our spirits a revi^ing flow; 

For. in this crisis of our sad condition, 

It seem'd a heavenly interposition. 



Especially when our balloon, beneath 

Some new and strong attraction, upwards nish'd. 
And we di*ew in, between our chattering teeth, 

A warmer air, which tlu'o" our sj'stem gush'd. 
Thawing om^ blood until it seem"d to seethe, 

AMiile we no longer felt oppress'd and crush'd 
By th* outward atmosphere, which now was neither 
Too rare nor cold, but a delicious ?cther. 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 213 

Hey ! presto ! pass ! — One anxious moment more, 
And we were compass' d by a vapomy shroud. 

Another pause, and there began to pour 
A heavy rain from this dissolving cloud; 

So that, by holding up the hats w^e wore, 
The swelling sides of the balloon allow'd 

A stream continuous to triclde down. 

And fill a bvmiper in the indented croMm, 



Me and my comrades did that magic draught 
Raise from despair to bliss without alloy, 

As if we simidtaneously had quaff'd 

Hope, corn-age, strength, vitality, and joy. 

Green was no longer truculent: — he laugh' d. 

And thought no more of whom he should destroy 

Wliile Guy kept praying, in his own farrago, 

Jiqyiter audor ! tibi gratias ago."" 



214 SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 

From that most blessed cloud emerging soon, 
There shot athwart our course a sudden light, 

As warm as a meridian day of June, — 

"WTien om- thi-ee voices, at theii' topmost height. 

Set up a choral shout — " The moon ! the moon ! " 
And there it was above us, huge and bright; 

Confounding all my system of astronomy. 

And notions of the sun and moon's economv. 



^^^len, as we thought, the balanced element. 
Kept om- balloon in equipoised inaction, 

We still had made a gradual ascent, 

Until we came within the moon's attraction. 

For "twas the moon indeed to which we bent 
Om- course with so much speed and satisfaction. 

I tell you simply what I saw, dear Nokes, 

So don't suppose my history a hoax. 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 215 

After the sun went down brief twilight gleam 'd; 

We were rapt upwards with a rush — and lo ! 
As we approach'd the moon, the morning beamed, 

And the warm planet sparkled in the glow 
Of sunshine ; — yes, however strange it seeni'd, 

There was no night that night. Guy felt it so, 
For he exclaim' d, — " A miracle confessed ! 
Occubuit sol, nox nulla secuta est." 



As we drew nearer, still the fairer smiled 

That lunar garden of delight, until 
The paradise thus open'd in the wild 

Fill'd us with wonder, though it could not fill 
Our maws : — the pangs of Tantalus were mild. 

Compared to those that made us yearn and thrill, 
As various fruits we noted, all and each 
Within our sight, but far above om- reach. 



216 SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 

When we had nearly gain'd the promised land. 
Some most provoking law of aerostatics 

Brought our poised vessel to a second stand. 
And thus we hung suspended in the attics; 

While the ground floor exhibited a bland 
I'isplay of warmth to solace oui- rhemnatics, 

As well as food, which, in oui' starving langom*. 

Half madden'd us with an impatient anger. 



Our woes to aggravate, the rustic crew, 

"Who in the fields akeady were at work, 
Soon as oui- floating figui-es came in view, 

Brandish'd ferociously scythe, spade, and fork. 
Or gathered stones, which at om- car they threw, 

Each, with the look of a malignant Tui'k, 
Shouting amain — " Hikanah polbob, boo !" 
Words meaning, when their English garb is put on, 
"If you alight, you're all as dead as mutton!" 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 217 

Just then some influence of gravitation 

Brought our balloon still nearer to the ground, 

Wlien, smitten with a sudden consternation 
The peasants fled to the defying sound, 

'' Hikanah polbob, boo!" but in their station 
We marked one maiden as we gazed around. 

For such we judged her by her cm*ly head, 

Her figure slim, and petticoat of red. 



Cried Green, whose spirits had revived, "By jingo! 

That flaming petticoat and graceful mien 
Give her the semblance of a red flamingo. 

But that no beak or pinions can be seen. 
I wonder whether she can speak our lingo: — 

Hilloa! Ma'am or Miss! behold om' lean 
And starving state. If you can throw so far, 
Pray toss a quartern loaf into our car!" 



218 SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Whereat she threw her body back — ^uprear'd 
Her fair round arms, and tenderly exclaimed 

" Squanch zimzom squish!" How euphonous appear' d 
Those guttural and Dutch -like words, when named 

By woman's ever welcome voice, endear' d 
Tenfold to us, whose hearing was inflamed 

By long and hungry listening for a sound. 

While we were prison' d in our silent pound. 



As speech was useless here, I made a sign, 
By pointing to my mouth -with starving look; 

Untwisting then a little ball of twine. 
And fastening to its lower end a hook, 

I let a basket down until the line 

Came within reach, which eagerly she took. 

Untied the pannier in a trice, and, quicker 

Than any antelope, bore ofi" the wicker. 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 219 

Oh! how we watch' d her flitting o'er the ground, 

As to the covert of a wood she flew! 
Oh! how our bosoms thrill' d with joy profound, 

As her hght form appeared again in \iew! 
Oh! when the string she to the handle bomid, 

How carefully the basket we up-drew! 
But oh ! (and this beat all the other oh !'s) 
At sight of its contents what joy arose ! 



Three bowls of milk we saw: I cannot say 

How mortal cows could yield so rich a di'aught, 

Unless they pastured in the milky way; — 
Imagine with what eagerness we quaff" d! 

Next were three loaves upon a wooden tray, 
So far beyond an eartlily baker's craft, 

That from their taste they might have been surmised 

To be sweet almond cakes celestialized. 



220 SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Not Heliogabalus nor old Apicius, 

Nor the famed suicidal cook Vattel, 
Ever concocted banquet more delicious, 

Or one so eagerly devom-'d. — To tell 
Th' effect of those restoratives auspicious 

Transcends my power; in short, we felt quite well, 
And in an access of hysteric gladness. 
Shriek' d, laugh' d, and jumped with every sign of madness. 



So kind the maiden, that I felt a hope, 

Perchance, that she might aid us to descend, 

So I uncoil' d and lowered do\\Ti a rope, 
With a small grappling iron at its end. 

Making a sign, — (oh! there is ample scope 
In signs, if people will but comprehend,) 

That she should stick the hook into the ground. 

Or fasten it to anything she found. 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 221 

As quick to execute as understand, 

The tackle to a withered stump she tied, 

Then lifting up each alabaster hand, 

She bowed, as if to say " I have complied/' 

So did we gently pull ourselves to land, 
And mooring the balloon that it might ride 

Safely at anchor, out wx jumped, enchanted 

To find our feet on terra firma planted. 



How shall I paint it— where begin — how frame 
Language descriptive of a scene so rare? 

Luxora (so the nymph was calFd) must claim 
Precedence of my pen. That faiiTst fair. 

Bending one knee as to the ground we came. 
Thrice touch' d her forehead with a reverent air 

Then smiling like an opening rose in June, 

Appeared to give us welcome to the moon. 



222 SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 

All the Lunarians, you must keep in mind, 
Are somewhat smaller than the human race. 

Bearing the same proportion to mankind, 

That the moon does to earth. In stature, grace, 

And symmetry, Luxora's form combined 

All that we dream of sylphs, although her face 

More round and moonlike than we see on earth, 

Showed her to be a girl of lunar birth. 



Yet was it fair, most exquisitely fair, — 

Her cheeks just beaming mth a roseate light. 

Contrasting with the yellow silken hair 

That fell in tendrils o'er her shoulders white; 

Her round ox-eye mth Juno's might compare. 
Save that its hue was moonlike, with a bright 

Spot in the centre of the purest hazel, 

More sparkling than the pupil of the gazelle. 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 223 

Her tight-made boddice of a golden thread, 
The budding beauties of her bust conceal' d, 

Her petticoat of dark flamingo red, 

Half of her fair unstocking'd leg reveal'd. 

No wonder that with such a foot, her tread 
Was light as gossamer. No nymph lark-heeFd, 

Nor Dian, Atalanta, nor Aui'ora, 

Had legs so lissom as the light Luxora. 



When I had gazed my fill — no easy task, — 
I look'd aroimd me on the landscape fair. 

Oh! what a master's pencil would it ask 
To paint a scene so beautifully rare, 

Where the whole face of nature wore a mask 
That gave her features a diminished air, 

And yet enhanced their charms, as if she sought 

To prove how well in miniature she wrought. 



224 SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 

A golden bloom illumed the velvet grass, 

WTiose flowers gave forth a perfimie rich and rare, 

The tinted waters looked like pui'ple glass. 
Flowing through meads aui'iferous ; — the air 

Thrill* d with the songs of birds that far svirpass 
Earth's nightingales in simimer evenings fair; 

And when we raised our ravished eyes on high, 

AMiat lovely visions glorified the sky! 



Prismatic clouds assumed the form and hues 
Of a grand gallery of pictures splendid, 

^\Tiere every taste its favourite scene might choose 
For here a gorgeous landscape lay extended. 

An aii'-drawn Paradise; and there sea-views. 
With figures, flowers, and cattle-pieces blended. 

All, when a zephjT wafted them from sight. 

To form again more beautifully bright. 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 225 

While I stood thus in an admiring trance, 

Green, who had gather'd and devour'd a mango, 

Now, bowing, to Lnxora would advance, 
Now twirl around her in a mad fandango, 

Crying at times, as he increased his dance, 
'' I'll show you, Miss, how rapidly I can go," 

And laughing louder as he caper' d roimd, 

At poor Luxora's wonderment profound. 



Guy's wonder was a stupor; every sight 
And every moment seeming to increase it : 

His first quotation was a bull outright, 
" Steterunt comce, vox faucihus hcesit,'' — 

For he was bald, and spoke. — " Who," quoth our wight, 
" Quis tale credat ? even when he sees it .^ 

Well may the moon be called decus astrorum. 

Where everything is dulce et decoinim.'' 

VOL. II. Q 



226 SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Aiid now Luxora, tripping oer the glades 
That formed its outskirts, led us to a wood. 

Within whose fragrant and sequestered shades, 
A small pavilion picturesquely stood. 

With windows looking down, thi*o' green arcades. 
On a far lake, whose waves the zephyr woo'd. 

Or sped some vessel on its sunny way, 

That dash'd tJie waters into sparkling spray. 



In this i-etreat, w^here everything betray' d 
Simplicity, refined by female taste. 

Our fair neat-handed Phillis — now our maid 
And hostess too^— {hath characters she graced,) 

A plain repast upon the table laid, 

Waiting upon us with such looks of chaste 

And reverent homage in her beaming features, 

Twas plain she took us for celestial creatures. 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 227 

Whene'er we spoke, this answer still we heard — 

" Squanch zimzom squish," whose lunar sense implies, 

" I cannot understand a single word ;" 
But we had little need of colloquies, 

For what we wanted instantly occurred, 

As if she read our very thoughts and eyes ; 

Such was the intuition of this airy, 

Brave, gracious, graceful, deferential fairy. 



Our meal concluded, with her tiny hand 

Of ivory, she pointed to a door. 
With signs to open it ; at which command 

We pass'd within and mark'd upon the floor 
Three couches ready to receive our band; 

Each at its head a plume of feathers bore. 
Each was with rushes strewn, and flowers whose balm 
Inspires a sleep, refreshing sweet, and calm. 



q2 



228 SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 

\Mien we returned, behold! the njTnph had fled, 
Or vanished as by magic fi-om the place : 

We listen d, but we could not hear her tread; 
We gazed around, no object could we trace : 

So to beguile our lonesomeness we sped 
Forth to the circling forest — not in chace 

Of the fair fugitive — ^but just to see 

Whate"er might move our curiosity. 



Oft will my memory that stroll renew, 
So strange and lovely was the woodland show: 

Each wild flower, shrub, and tree that met om- view, 
Resembled those that in oui' tropics grow — 

Palm, cedar, cjqDress, banyan, bamboo. 

And many more whose names we did not know. 

W^ere laced together in alcoves and bowers, 

By parasitic plants, enwreathed with flowers. 



SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 229 

The dove, gold pheasant, humming-bird, maccaw. 
Swung to and fro upon the high festoons, 

While, sporting in the lower boughs, we saw 
Opossums, squirrels, monkeys, and racoons, 

And all by some mysterious lunar law 

Had round flat faces just like little moons; 

Even the animals unknown on earth. 

Bearing this token of their lunar birth. 



If they were strange to us, 't was clearer still 
That we were strange to them; for, as we sped. 

The bii'ds flew ofi" with startl'd screamings shrill, 
While quickly disappeared each quadruped; 

New forms we glimpsed, which scarcely waited till 
We came in sight, when instantly they fled. 

We laugh'd at their alarms, but far more pleasant 

Was the wild panic of a passing peasant. 



230 SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Thus we pursued our fear-diffiising walk 

Till evening's shadows fell, when home we hied, 

Of fair Luxora's bravery to talk — 
The only being who, unterrified. 

Had faced us, and not only scom'd to baulk 
Oui" hopes of aid, but kindly had supplied 

Such food and lodging, we could almost fancy 

The whole some scene of fairy necromancy. 



We saw the sun behind the mountains set 
In all thefiulgence of prismatic glory, 

Then gladly to our couches did we get. 
To chat awhile of our surprising story. 

But the flowers soporific would not let 

Our talk be more than brief and transitory, 

For we all sunk in balmy slumber soon : 

So passed our first day's sojoui^n in the moon. 



THIRD POETICAL EPISTLE. 231 



THIRD POETICAL EPISTLE. 

From Amos Stokes, Esa., of Nashville, United States, to 

Washington Nokes, Esq,, of Liverpool, concluding 

the Account of a very remarkable Aerial 

Voyage made in the Grand 

Kentucky Balloon. 

Waking next morning, when I raised my head 

After a slumber sweet beyond compare, 
I found, as if by magic fingers spread, 

A ready breakfast of substantial fare: 
Fruits, milk, and honey, and a sort of bread 

Resembling ours, but far more rich and rare, 
Composed the meal, of which our approbation 
Was shown by its immediate mastication. 



232 THIRD POETICAL EPISTLE. 

By her own pure and pious heart deceived, 
Luxora thought us a celestial crew, 

Who, in their visit, ought to be received 
With aU the reverence to angels due; 

And stating to the King what she beUeved, 
His Majesty, who deem'd the story true. 

Next morning sent a solemn deputatiom, 

To offer us a royal habitation. 



The gi'avest Quaker's gravest pug would bark 
Had he but seen the pomp and the grimaces, 

Of these dwarf 'd spindle-shanks, without a spark 
Of animation in their moony faces; 

Yet proud as Lucifer, if any mark, 

Or badge, or bearing, gave the smallest traces 

That they might elevate their pigmy bodies 

One jot above their brother hoddy-doddies. 



THIRD POETICAL EPISTLE. 233 

Some had a maze of horse-hair, saturate 

With grease and dust, entwisted round their polls, 

AVhich dirty dignitaries walk'd in state, 

As grave as judges. Bless their nasty souls! 

Some strutted in fantastic robes, ornate 
With filthy fur of polecats or of moles. 

Seeming to think that it enhanced theii- rank. 

The more the animals that wore them stank. 



Others, deriving their distinction's germ 
From baser sources still, displayed a dress 

Spun from the bowels of a loathsome worm; 
Others again, like earthly savages, 

Wore toys and trinkets worthy of the term. 
Such as sliced vegetables, to express 

Their rank and honour; these their vests were put on. 

Or dangled from a coat's conspicuous button. 



234 THIRD POETICAL EPISTLE. 

Another class there was, in trappings gay. 

Fine eoloui's — laces — feathers — -ribbons — wreaths. 

Who let themselves for hire, to kill and slay. 
For which they carried carving knives in sheaths 

Of shoulder-knots, and liveried array, 

Prouder than any popinjay that breathes; 

And what was strange, the women seemed to love 

These men-destroyers other men above. 



The leader of the party, robed and stair" d, 
Made a long speech in the terrestrial fashion ; 

Sa\^dng the air, he thumped his bosom hard. 
With eveiy sign of vehemence and passion. 

Just to assure us of the king's regard. 
And to convey the royal invitation. 

That we should permanently be installed 

At Phosphan (so their capital is call'd). 



THIRD POETICAL EPISTLE, 235' 

As in procession we began our march 

Through groves and fields, and avenues romantic. 

Green vented his vivacity most arch. 
In every sort of foolery and antic, 

Pulling the pig-tail of the leader starch, 

^\^lo, turning sharply round, with rage half frantic, 

Cuffed more than once his own astonished folk. 

Whom he suspected of this shameful joke. 



But Green's great aim in pulling was to tui'n 

Suspicion on the grave decorous Guy, 
Whose deprecating look of blank concern, 

(Not to say horror,) language must defy. 
" You had rather lose," he cried, in accents stern, 

" Your friend than joke." " Why that," (was the reply,) 
'' Somewhat depends," — (he sniggered as he spoke,) 
'* Upon the friend, but more upon the joke." 



236 THIKD POETICAL EPISTLE. 

If for a moment, Nokes, you recollect 

The influence of the moon on people craz'd, 

How, at its full, it has a marked efiect 
On lunatics, you will not be amazed 

That here its power, more stringent and direct, 
Should to a more morbific height be raised. 

So that the people, to their planet fitted, 

Are lunatics outright, or else half-witted. 



Thus their whole architecture's scope and plan. 
Opposes nature, who, in building ti'ees, 

Holds out a lesson to masonic man. 
By suiting them to their localities. 

Where we require a parasol or fan, 

And there's no snow to break their canopies, 

Her boughs she spreads as widely as she can. 

As in the cedar, cypress, and banyan. 



THIKD POETICAL EPISTLE. 237 

In northern climes, where shade we can forego. 
Her verdant structures take the conic form. 

As best adapted to shoot off the snow, 

And bide the pelting of the fi-equent storm ; 

While the close branches, tapering from below, 
Support, protect, and keep each other warm: 

As we discover in the fir and plane, 

Indigenous to every cold domain. 



Winter, at Phosphan, is so long and drear. 
That they 've more need of flannel than o shades. 

Yet they 've imported from their southern sphere, 
A taste for corridors and colonnades, 

Flat roofs, wide balconies, (to lovers dear,) 
Projecting porticoes, and cool arcades, 

Which would appear less thoroughly misplaced. 

Could they import the climate with the taste. 



238 THIRD POETICAL EPISTLE. 

During eight days we led a life serene, 

Pampered with feasts, and garlanded with roses, 

But on the ninth a change came o'er the scene, 
Which ended quickly our apotheosis; 

The cause of which reverse was Harry Green, 
Whose frantic course of lunar life discloses 

Insults most gross — iniquities most daring — 

And drunken outrages beyond all bearing. 



Learning these black enormities, the king 
And comicil met in secret, made decree 

That as our crime was such an impious thing, 
In having claimed a sham di\Tnity, 

We should, without a formal trial, swing- 
Early next morning on the gaUows tree ! 

Which, I submit, was sacrificing us. 

For their own notions superstitious. 



THIRD POETICAL EPISTLE. 239 

How she obtained the secret none can tell, 
But in the night, Luxora passed our gate, 

And by her speaking looks and signs, full well 
Gave us to understand our threatened fate ; 

To shun which doom most truculent and fell. 
She urged our flight ere yet it was too late, 

Oflering to guide us to the spot where we 

Left oui- balloon fast tackled to a tree. 



In her right hand our fairy guide conceal'd 

A turning lamp, whose light at times was dead. 

At times, the glades and copses it reveal' d. 
Through which in silent fearfulness we fled. 

And thus we hurried on through wood and field. 
Till to the moor'd balloon our way we sped. 

When in we jumped — cut loose— and soar'd together 

Up in a whirlwind like an eagle's feather. 



240 THIRD POETICAL EPISTLE. 

How we should ever re-descend to earth. 
We hadn't, one of us, the smallest notion; 

But while our thoughts were struggling for a birth, 
A moon volcano, in a fierce explosion, 

Threw out an aerolite, which struck the giith 

Of our silk globe, and caused a strange comniotion- 

Out went the gas, and down, down, doAATi went we. 

Shooting through space with dread velocity I 



All thoughts of life I now resigned, well knowing 
That if we reached the earth, (and what if not!) 

At the tremendous rate that we were going. 
We must be dashed to atoms on the spot. 

While this sad prospect set my brains all glowing, 
AVhiz ! dash ! smash ! crash ! beneath the waves we shot, 

And down we sank till rising breathless, scared, 

I oped my peepers and around me stared. 



THIRD POETICAL EPISTLE. 241 

A brig I saw upon oui* starboard bow. 

The Jane of Boston, Captain Samuel Ford, 

Who, when he saw us rising from below, 
Lowered a boat and took us all on board. 

Both Green and Guy at first were somewhat slow 
In coming to, but were at length restored, 

And quaff' d a glass of grog to cure the rum ache 

Occasioned by the water in their stomach. 



It seems that we had plunged in our descent 

Into the Gulf of Mexico — a cast 
WTiich saved our bones and lives; so now we bent 

Our course for Boston, which we reach'd at last. 
Thence by the diligence we homeward went, 

Much talking of our strange adventures past, 
Deeming ourselves all singularly lucky 
Safely to reach oui' dwellings in Kentucky 

VOL. II. R 



242 ST. George's penitentiary. 



ST. GEORGE'S PENITENTIARY. 

The learned and facetious Dr. Airy 

Preaeh'd, 'tother day, a sermon so pathetic, 
For the St. George's Penitentiary, 

That it seemed just like giving- an emetic 
To every purse of Christian bowels: 

Folks sobbed and blubber' d 
So fast, that handkerchiefs were turned to towels; 

And the last tear seemed squeezed from out its 
cupboard. 
The Doctor smiled (within his sleeve) 

At these salt tributes to his oratory, 



ST. George's penitentiary, 243 

Sure that the Institution would receive 
A sum redounding to his proper glory, 
From the soul-melted auditory. 

The sermon o'er, he bent his keen 
Ear to the tinklings of the plate ; — 
Alas they came with pause deliberate 
'Twixt each donation, 

" Like angel visits, few and far between," 
(I like a new quotation,) 
But, as he caught the sounds, he thought 

Each had a golden echo, which in fairness 

Made full atonement for its rareness. 
"Ay, ay," soliloquized the preacher, 

" I told them charity aton'd 

For multitudes of sins ; — they 've owned 
For once the wisdom of their teacher, 

And, for their many crimes untold. 

Are doing penance with their gold." 

k2 



244 ST. GEORGES PENITENTIARY. 

With this aui'iferous impression, 

Proud and elate, 

He moved towards the plate ; 
But ah! how changed was his expression. 
When, "stead of the expected prize, 
Nothing but shillings met his eyes. 
And those, alas ! too few in number 

Each other to encimiber. 
" Ah !" cried the parson, — " addle-pated 
Dolts and dunces! when I stated, 
' Love of om* species is the just 
Measure of charity," they must 
Have understood the phrase to be, 

Love of our specie. 

Nothing but shillings, shillings still! 

A strange vagar}^! 
Now on my credit, if I had my will. 
Their Institution's title I would vary. 
Into the Tweh'e-TE:sNY-tentiary.'' 



ST. George's penitentiary. -245 

Doctor! 'tis my opinion humble, 

You had not any right to gi'umble, 

For he who in this penny age can touch 

A shilling, gets twelve times as much 

As other folks; — I state no hoax. 

But simple fact, devoid of jokes, 

Or amphibological equivoques; 

Yes, since the penny banner was unfurl'd. 

In this two-halfpenny four-fai'thing world, 

Have we not thousands who are willing 

To place unlimited reliance, 
• For learning, news, and science. 
Upon the twelfth pai't of a shilling? 
Have we not Penny Cyclopedias, 

Penny Magazines and books, 
Penny Tracts, less good than tedious. 

For penitents of rueful looks, 
And penny classics that give scope 
To boys at penny schools, and misses, 



246 ST. George's penitentiaby. 

To sympathize with poor Ulysses 
And his beloved Penny-lope? 

With such economy, 
WTiere eveiy^ cottage is a college, 
What wonder, in the march of knowledge. 

That plonghboys miderstand astronomy? 
Cries Hodge — "How comes it that the sim. 

Which nightly seeks the western shore, 
Rises, as sure as any gun, 

Next morning where he was afore?" 
"Spoony!" replies a learned wight, 

Yom- ignorance is truly risible; 
He always travels back at night. 

And that 's the reason he 's invisible." 

It was a penny Latinist, who said, 
In chaos there had been a battle 
Before the days of men and cattle. 



ST. George's penitentiary. 24^ 

Though not set down in Holy Writ, 
Because in Ovid he had read 

That was the time when nihil jit. 
Such tales, (I hope that none have quizzed 'em,) 
Evince the march of penny wisdom. 
And might be told ad infinitum, 
Had we just now the time to write 'em. 



248 CHARADE. 



CHARADE. 

Sordid and narrow and mean is my Fii'st, 

Where in tenements rank with tobacco and gin, 
Dwells the toiling mechanic with poverty cursed, 

'Mid the breakers of law and the \ictims of sin. 
'Tis gone! — a hall uprises, — view 
Yon clamorous prize-fighting crew, 
Wrangling, jangling, sense entangling, 
Law new-fangling, justice mangling, — 
'Tis not Bedlam, but as bad, 
For money-mania makes them mad. 
Hey presto pass! a graced saloon behold 

Where to a brighter star bright stars repair 
And beauties decked in jewelry and gold. 

Curtsey to grace and beauty still more rare. 



C H AK ADE. 

From each and all of these, at times, 

Prison' d ^vithin my second's bound, 
The sick — the sad — the doom'd for crimes, 

The idle and the gay are found, 
Swiftly their wingless flight is flown, 

Their guide a lady's plaything, beckon' d 
By hand imseen from spot unknoAvn: — 

What urges thee so fast my second? 
What hurts the eye, yet mocks the sight. 

Feels not, yet sighs and makes lament; — 
As any floating feather light, 

And yet at times omnipotent. 
Guarded, my Second, thus, thy might 

Woidd seem to challenge fate and death, 
Yet doom and danger track thy flight, 

Threat'ning around — above — beneath. 
See, see, the lightning's angry flash; 

Hark! what an elemental roar! 
A shuddering cry — a thunder crash, — 

My Second 's gone — 'tis seen no more ! 



249 



250 CHARADE. 

Let none but pleasant sights appear, 

Naught but the turtle-dove be heard, 
Where Passion-flowers, to lovers dear, 

Enwreathe an arbour for my Third. — 
There the heart vents in tender sighs 

The feeling that no words can reach. 
Or makes the love-revealing eyes 

More fond and eloquent than speech. 
Fulfill' d be all the hopes ye raise. 

Enamour' d inmates of the bower, 
And oh! may aU your future days 

Be blissful as the present hour! — 

[Courtship.] 



CHARADE. 251 



CHARADE. 

♦ 

Gin-palace Circe ! quit the niche 

Or den that constitutes my First, 
Nor from below, thou fair foul witch! 

Call spirits baleful and accurs'd. 
She's gone! — Beware! your pouch to pick. 

Yon crew throws dust into your eyes : 
Distrust their flowers of rhetoric, 

They garland whom they victimise. 
Now to our dearest hopes opposed, 

My changeful First ! thou'rt all we dread ; 
And now, in solid gold disclosed. 

How eagerly thou'rt coveted! 



252 CHARADE. 

But ah ! most fatal art thou when 

ThouVt formed beneath the 'whelming wave. 
Of women fair and gallant men, 

The Sacrificer and the grave ! 



The friend, the lover, ai-e on thee, 

My Second ! source of many a tear. 
When their vex'd souls they cannot free 

From dark suspense, and jealous fear. 
On thee, within his prison lone. 

The doom'd assassin or the thief, 
Vents, in his agony, the groan, 

Or prays for death as a relief. 
I see thee speeding overhead, 

As if thou hadst an eagle's wing, 
I see thee in the cattle shed, 

A lifeless and unmoving thing, 



CHARADE. 253 

My Third is fashion' d to enfold 
Strange implements of war. — Behold 

Those frames with human features; 
By time and artificial means 
They're manufactured to machines 

For killing human creatures. 
Obedient moves — east, west, north, south, 
Up to the breach, or cannon's mouth : 

Each automatic figure, — 
'Gainst friend or foe, whate'er the cause. 
With equal nonchalance he draws 

His death dispensing-trigger. 
Enslaved alike in frame and mind, 
Life's object for its means resign'd, 

What gains th 'unlucky varlet? 
Dying, he sleeps on honours couch, 
And living, flaunts with empty pouch, 

In outward gold and scarlet. 
Never were muscles, bones, and will, 
By such self-sacrificing skill. 



254 CHARADE. 

Made neuter, passive, active. 
Machine ! thou'rt mechanism's pride. 
But never was its art applied 

To purpose less attractive ! 

[Barrack.] 



CHARADE. 255 



CHARADE. 

Oh ! what a glorious city ! — behold 

Its obelisks, pyramids, sphinx-guarded fanes. 
You gaze on Bubastis in Egypt of old, 

And hark! to those sacred melodious strains! 
The dulcimer, harp, shawm, and tabret combine 

With the choral rejoicings and anthems that biu-st 
From yon temples august and magnificent shrine, 

Where prostrated crowds are adoring my First. 
How strange the conflicting caprices and whims 

Of blind superstition ! some ages are fled. 
And the object which living was worshipp'd with hymns, 

And graced with an apotheosis when dead, 



256 CHARADE. 

Ill Europe is marked for proscription and ban, 
As leagued with the foul and unsanctified crew 

^\^lo ply the black art that's forbidden to man. 
And with spirits of darkness dark courses pursue. 



And where is my changeable Second display'dr 

In the belle and the bird, in the damsel and crone. 
In the foul and the fair, in the mistress and maid. 

In the dabbler in mud, in the queen on her throne. 
WTio can reckon its changes of fonii and abode? 

Arch'd and square, low and dirty, distorted and strait. 
It is seen in the ditch, on the dunghill, the road, 

In the huts of the poor, in the halls of the great. 
It is pure flesh and blood, when from Nature's o^vn hand ; 

Made by man, its diversified substance is found 
In the fish of the deep, in the beasts of the land. 

In the trees of the field, in the ore miderground. 
If sometimes "tis worn unembellish'd and plain. 

By the wives or the daughters of niggardly churls. 



CHARADE. 257 

At others 'tis deck'd with a glittering train 
Of diamonds and amethysts, rubies and pearls. 

In my populous Third what a withering change 

From the busy Bubastis my first gave to sight : 
No sunbeam, no moon gilds its desolate range ; 

All is silence profound and perpetual night. 
It has numberless houses, and each one contains 

A single inhabitant ever asleep, 
No footfall is heard in its streets and its lanes, 

In the midst of a crowd there is soHtude deep 
Here lovers whose union has long been denied, 

Often meet, but no love-breathing whisper is heard; 
Here bitterest foemen are placed side by side. 

But their warfare is over : there's peace in my Third ! 

[Catacomb.] 



VOL II. 



^'58 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 



DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 

A KECEXT OCCUEEENCE. 

A FiEM there is, of civic fame, 

At all events, of notoriety, 
(Excuse ni}^ mentioning its name,) 

^Miich crams the public to satiety, 
With rhyming puffs by shopmen bards, 
And huge conspicuous placards. 
Slung on the backs of men and boys, 

And hobble-de-hoys, 
Piling all day their devious courses ; 

Or stuck on the tall vans that flare 

Through every crowded thoroughfare. 
To cozen asses and to frighten horses. 



DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 2-59 

This &ni's emporium or bazaar. 
Near Alclgate pump, is known afar 

By catchpenny devices manifold, 
By panes of glass worth many guineas, 
And all tliat may attract the ninnies 

Who think they 're buying cheap, and find 
they 're sold. 

Two clo"sviis, one day, before the shop. 

In rustic frocks and spatterdashes, 

Besmirch' d with stercoraceous splashes, 
Came to a stop; 
Not to admire the flash habiliments, 
^\Tiich a month's wear would turn to iilanients ; 

Not to indulge in talk domestic, 
But to decide by imprecations, 
And interchange of objm-gations, 

Some unadjusted feud agrestic. 
Their flashing eyes and gestures fm-ious 

Soon show'd that words, howe'fer injurious, 

s 2 



260 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 

Would not interpret what their rage meant, 
So they began a fist engagement; 
And, in the very fii'st attack, 
One of the rustics, reeling back, 

Against the window fell slap dash. 

Zooks! what a crash! 
'Twas obvious that the largest pane 
(If we may speak in Yankee strain) 

Was sent to everlasting smash. 



Away the first aggressor hurried, 

• And presently was lost to sight; 

Out rushed four shopmen, red and flurried. 
Who seized the window-breaking wight. 
Aghast and trembling with affright, 

Dragg'd him into theii' shop or trap, and 

Told their master what had happen' d. 

"It cost ten pounds!" the latter roard; 

''Ten pounds, and you must pay them down. 



DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 261 

Before your liberty 's restored, 

D' ye hear? hast got the money, clown?" 



"Ten pounds!" cried Hodge, in blank dismay; 
" Lord love you, I can never pay. 
I've got ten shillings and some pence ; 

('Tis hard to make me such a loser,) 
But if they '11 cover the offence. 

Take 'em and let me go, now do, sir." 
" Blockhead ! will such a mite atone ? 

You must make good the whole disaster." 
" I've nothing else, sir, of my own ; 

What more I've got belongs to master." 
"So you have money then? how much?" 
" Why, sir, he sent me on a job, 

To cash a check for fifty poimd; 
'Tis done, the note is in my fob, 

Wrapp'd in a paper, safe and sound; 
But that, you know, I mustn't touch; 



262 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 

You wouldn't bring me to disgrace, 
Wi' loss o' character and place ; 
So don't ye ax me, sii*, pray don't; 
Touch it I mustn't, and I M'on't." 
"Yoiu" master, clo^^'n, is answerable 

For yom- misdeeds, whate'er they be ; 
Do^^'n with the note upon the table, 

And we'll give change and set you free ; 
If not, prepare to go to prison," 

" Dang it ! " cried Hodge, with foce of woe, 
"AVhat can I do, sir, when you know 
The money isn't mine, but his'nr" 
"Stuff!" quoth the magnate of the shop; 
" Quick ! quick ! let the police be called, 
And send him straight to gaol." " Stop ! stop 

Ejaculated Hodge, appall'd, 
And like a leaf of aspen shaking, 
Such was his pitiable taking, 
" Master, if I am miss'd, will say 
I've robbed him, and have run away 



DIAMOITD CUT DIAMOND. 263 



It cant be helped— what must be, must." 

So sayiug he fish'd up the note, 
From the deep fob in which 'twas thrust, 

And twisted like a papillote, 
Secured the change, and then departed; 
Half frightened and half broken hearted, 
Moaning and muttering, "I fegs ! 

How shall I ever tell my master 

About this terrible disaster? 
I'm ruined, sure as eggs is eggs." 



Our cits, though chuclding with intense 
Enjoyment at the clown's expense, 

Had little cause for mirth, if any. 
For lo! their banker's clerk appears 
Next day, and whispers in their ears, 

" This fifty 's forged— not worth a penny 

Such was the fact,— om- firm had lost. 
Besides the broken window's cost, 



264 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 

Pounds forty at a single thro-sv : 
WTiat had they in retiu-ii to show 
For such subtraction from their till? 
A piece of paper, value — nil ! 

Meanwhile the fighting clowns, w^hose roguery 
(They were colleagues) the plot had plann'd. 
By which the tradesmen were trepannd, 
Changed their smock frocks for stylish toggerj-, 
To Margate steam' d, to take their pleasui-e, 
And spent theii* forty pounds at leisure. 



THE END. 



London : Harrison and Co., Printers, St. Martin's Lane. 



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